…as the kids say.
Even though this puggle follows me to the washroom and whimpers whenever I leave the room, the man-child is Vizzini’s go-to for playtime:
That last pic is ‘Zzini’s ‘I von zee bone, but lost mah friend!’* look. Dude idolizes that kid.
*The dog speaks with an unidentifiable accent. What do you expect from a dog named Vizzini?
More specifically, my kids with guns as they’re out skeet shooting with my father as I type.
I know, right? MY kids. I have a hard time reconciling it with my wet, liberal sentimentalities too.
My dad and I simply don’t talk gun politics anymore. We’ve reached the point where we get that our views are what they are and are diametrically opposed and, quite frankly, that makes for really crap debates. Bo-ring.
I was raised with guns. I shot skeet and trap and handgun and compound bow. And I liked it. And I turned out ok, right? So, even though I worry about what the recoil will do to their tender little shoulders, or them taking the butt to the chin, or A FREAK ACCIDENT RESULTING IN ONE OF THEM RETURNING WITH NO FACE!…I’m ok with it because I know they’ve got the best teacher in the world. A teacher who has been doing it for a lifetime and who will help them develop a healthy respect (and, dare I say, fear) for firearms and what they can do.
Update: kids have returned and no faces were lost, but they were fed cappuccinos and are bouncing off the walls. Apparently the son shot about 40/100 and the daughter gave up because she was scared by the recoil/the gun was too long/it was more fun to press the button that makes the pigeons flee the trap house.
Last night we had the pleasure of bearing witness to the daughter’s second rock performance. Her school has the fortune of having a teacher on staff so completely dedicated to steeping the lives of children in music and so completely insane to put together a rock band made up of 8-12 year olds. The music was 100% original, written and performed by the students. They even came up with a cheeky name for the band which played up on the insane teacher’s last name’s etymological proximity to the word ‘ass’. They done good.
The ramp up to it was a funny thing to bear witness to as well; the daughter getting up super early yesterday morning to prepare and look the part, hunting around for anything RED she could find. She needed RED! Some reds just weren’t red enough. Her brother busted her chops all morning with things like ‘you’re only wearing 5 red things. You’re clearly not red enough’ then ‘your reds are clashing’. Not being able to take a joke under the circumstances, these comments would throw her into another mad hunt for REDDER that RED things, muttering the lyrics to the songs all through it. Her brother is so supportive.
I felt excited and nervous for her all day. I suffer terrible stage fright and just can’t imagine what it takes for her to get up on stage, belt out some tunes and play an instrument she just learned 2 months ago. Luckily she escaped that gene somehow and, though she admits to being nervous, she gets up there and makes it all look effortless. She’s one of those kids who compensate for the the ones just going through the motions with her stamina & commitment to rockin’ out.
This means so many other things too. One of her fellow vocalists is very trained, very talented, and very competitive. She’s also one of the daughter’s best friends. That my kid could get up there and give her friend a run for her money kinda blows my mind.
And she wrote a song! This is something she kept to herself as a surprise for performance night. It was a really intelligent song about being imagined in this King Crimson-meets-The Flaming Lips kind of style. My kids writes my music. Crazy.
My thoughts since the show have been swamped with thoughts of holding her as a baby and wondering what she would grow up to be and that now, at almost 5’8″ and borrowing my clothes, she’s simply the best her she possibly could be. Which means I done good too.