The sound of righteous indignation
The one question a parent has to ask, eventually: are my children like me? Not, do my children like me. You have no say on that one. But as to the social character and belief system, accept fate. You reap what you sow.
Tonight, a family celebration. Retirement on the invitation, and an unknown restaurant as the stage for the passionate play. In passing, why does parking have to be so difficult, in a place that claims it wants people to get out and enjoy the fare? We had to measure our overhang with an large unmarked driveway, and then hope to avoid the ticketers (we did, in the end). All the kids and all the parents, in the same place, at the same time. Harder to arrange than a decade ago.
The other defining factor: how long we stayed at table, together. Not 100% on this one. As the food diminished, the volume increased. With volume, passion. My children are (every bit) as righteous as me. Surprisingly, we share a common set of values, but from there to complacent agreement… a long distance to travel, yet.
And so, after deciding that we were satiated, the group broke. Several hours together, rather than the several minutes of a parent-child supper. Separate ways, and all that. Until the next time.
A lot of police cars in that part of town. Seriously. Look to the left. Look to the right. Look behind you. Squad cars look “just like that” even in the dark. Must be the paint scheme. We minded our P’s and Q’s, and went home to rescue the dog from his fortress of solitude.
