The young man is smoking pot, I have learned. I learned it when he had his two corpulent buddy boys over, disappeared up in his room for half an hour of wallshattering giggling and boyish carrying on, descended and ate 3 pizzas and a plate of brownies and half a dozen bags of smoked beef and half a bag of Smartfood. Plus I think they got into my frozen Heath bars.
First thing I did was rat him out to his Mom.
“Woody is smoking weed,” I announced over the morning newspaper---a pygmy of a paper, a “rag’’, the COLUMBUS DISTPATCH which is quickly dispatched to the recycling bit.
“I know. He has been for over a year. “
“O.K. Just mentioning it. In my paternal mode. “
“Thank you, dear.”
With that quandary quickly dispatched, I turned my attention to the paper.
MAN SETS HIMSELF ON FIRE OUTSIDE CITY HALL, the Metro section front page proclaimed mildly. Seems there is a charred spot on the City Hall patio where a 58 yr old man set himself aflame. He rolled around and stumbled here and there and ended up next to the Christopher Columbus statue, crispy.
Star Trek was on. It was the one where Kirk meets Lincoln and Spock meets the First Vulcan, Father of All We Hold True. I would like to meet such a hero of my own life. I suppose it would be Whitehead, please don’t laugh at the choice. He was a brilliant mystic mathematician –philosopher poet who led a mild and harmless existence with a vivacious wife at his side the whole time.
I look at Margaret and she senses it and smiles in a quizzical way, her head bent just the slightest…