Andrew, my youngest son, was excited – “I want to see lions, and tigers, and elephants!” Oh my, hopefully this would be a better experience than our trip to the San Francisco zoo a year ago where to our horror we found they don’t house the larger pachyderms, just the smaller cousin, the hippo. All well in good if you’re in to protesting elephant habitat rights, but not so great if you’re looking to invoke awe in your child.

As we got to my car my Dad settled in with his jacket, hat, and the big leafy branch. I pulled my Mom aside. She explained that the branch was from the “bush” that was growing seemingly exponentially in their backyard. I knew the one. I often hacked at it when I came over, but it was like a great octopus – every limb that I carved off seemed to sprout a few more. But that still didn’t explain why my Dad had it in his hands. My Mom smiled again, “he’s going to take it to the zookeeper and see if the elephants will eat it.” Ah…

My dad has a history of coming up with “ideas”, but this one veered into the nether world of Seinfeld — something George Costanza’s dad might do. I was mortified, but I also realized that my ability to talk my Dad out of it approached nil. Instead, I started thinking as if I were a crisis manager. How could I contain the damage? Maybe the ticket takers wouldn’t let my Dad in with “outside food”.

Wishful thinking, for my Dad was on a mission. After we checked out the flamingos, camels and giraffes it was time. The elephant paddock awaited. Praying the elephants might be playing in the mud or doing whatever elephants do, fate instead presented… feeding time – and easy access to a zookeeper. My dad quickly waved one over while Andrew, my Mom and I ducked our heads and slunk about fifteen feet away. After a short conversation my Dad gave the branch to the zookeeper. Was this really going to work? Is it a common occurrence for people to bring “snacks” for the animals?

Well, it turns out that the zookeeper said he would have the zoo’s botanist analyze the branch and if it was edible he’d be in touch… My Dad was happy, I was relieved, and my four year old was oblivious to it all — pretending his right arm was an elephant trunk. All in all, just another ordinary trip to the zoo.

Luke: “Really?”

Dad: “Of course. Go write down five names on pieces of paper and cut them out and put them in a hat. [figuring this would take him at least 30 minutes to accomplish] We’ll have mommy pick the winner.”

Luke: “Okay” [scrambling to his feet to find paper and pencil]

Luke: [two minutes later] “I only can think of four names.”

Dad: “Nope, we need five. Your brother Alexander was going to name you Alexander so throw your own name in the hat if you have to.”

Luke: “Hmmm…” [off again]

For a boy that can never find anything it’s a wonder to see what he can do when he’s really motivated. For not 2 minutes later he comes back with a hat filled with five semi square pieces of paper with names on them.

Dad: “You ready?”

Luke: [smiling like the King of Sheba] “Emm, hmmm.”

He hands the hat to Michelle and she draws…

Mom: “Sam”

Luke: [very happy because this has been his pick of late] “Sam!”

Dad: “That’s a good name. No more Marvin. This is Samuel.”

Luke: “Sam, not Samuel”

Mom: “But Samuel is the full name like Alexander for your brother.”

Luke: “Sam”

Dad: “Right, what other names did you have in the hat? [looking at the pieces of paper] “Jake”, “Ieuken (Anakin)”, “Trzan” (Tarzan), and “Tilar (Tyler).” Why don’t you go do five more so we can pick his middle name and be done?”

[Luke scurries off and in two minutes he’s back again, this time I pick the name out of the hat]

Dad: “Looks like it’s “Nitwey?”

Luke: “Nightwing!” [a Teen Titan, also known as Robin]

Dad: “Sam Nightwing. A very unusual name. What were the other middle name options? “Stic”, “Luce” (Lucky), “Man”, “Trzn” (Tarzan)

Luke walks away smiling.

Mom: “You don’t think he really thinks we’re going to name the baby Sam Nightwing do you?

Dad: “Well, he’s very logical, and we did name him Luke when we couldn’t decide and I won a coin flip. So I think that’s a yes…Sam Nightwing. It’ll grow on you…”

Three months later and we name the baby…Andrew Joesph…oh, the switheroo. There was some trauma…

Naturally when Luke plays superhero at home – “Mommy, can you make me a mask, and a cape, and a…” — he needs a sidekick as well. The other day he asked me if I could be his sidekick.

Dad: “No, I’m too old for that, but maybe Mommy could be.”

Luke: “No, Mommy can’t jump.”

Dad: “What? Sure she can.”

Luke: “Dad, Dad. She’s scared of jumping.”

Dad: “Well, how about a “sidecat” instead of sidekick?”

Luke: “Noooo…”

Dad: “Sure, Maddie (our cat) would be a great sidecat.”

Luke: “Hmmm”

So that conversation ended and a couple of weeks went by and I was driving to work with Luke, who goes to daycare with me, and he asked me again if I could be his sidekick.

Dad: “Hmmm. Well, only if I could wear a cape [in the Incredibles movie there’s a scene where an “expert” tells Mr. Incredible not to ever wear a cape because of the extreme dangers involved – i.e. superheroes getting sucked into jet engines]

Luke: “Really? Okay.”

Dad: “No, no capes. I can’t wear a cape, you know that.”

[pause for about 30 seconds]

Luke: “Are the Incredibles real?”

Dad: “No, we’ve talked about that before, they’re pretend.”

Luke: [with a Cheshire smile as I look at him through the rearview mirror] “Then you can wear a cape! You won’t get hurt.”

I guess the moral of the story is not to try to out think Luke. At 4 ½ he pieces logical arguments together better than most of my work colleagues…

After Christmas I took my boys to San Diego o visit their Aunt, Uncle, and cousin. On the way down we had broken the trip in half staying overnight in a California farm belt town – Los Banos. When I asked the boys – ages 13, 10, and almost 4 — what they thought Los Banos meant in English they had no clue. When I filled them in that it meant “the bathes” or “the bathroom” they all busted up – it’s not often you get to stay in “the toilet”.

The first part of the trip was uneventful. It was a quick trip and we packed the most fun in we could having a great time visiting and playing board games, going zip lining, and just chilling out. But on the way back – 8 hours in close quarters where you appreciate the little things. We followed the Boy Scout motto and were well prepared. Loaded up with Chex Mix, Pringles, Corn Nuts, et al, and most importantly a good sense of humor. So when the older boys impishly asked if they could throw their apple cores out the window they did so with my blessing – the apples are biodegradable. When they both missed badly – how do you miss throwing an apple out a window from point blank range? – spattering all over the window, I just shrugged my shoulders and told the boys they better study hard in school – we didn’t have any Cy Young’s travelling with us.

Up front with me was Alexander, my 13 year old, who had called shot gun. Luke (age 10) and little Andrew (3 3/4ths) were in the back of the Honda Accord with jackets and snacks packed between them. For the first couple of hours we listened to tunes and Luke read quietly. But as I glanced back to check on him every fifteen minutes or so I got a little alarmed. He didn’t look good – he was starting to look as gray/green as I looked after smoking my first Cuban cigar years before.

I asked if he was okay and he said he thought so. But something was definitely up. Before I could enact a plan I heard Luke say that he didn’t feel good. Alexander, always quick on the uptake, rapidly reached into the back seat and grabbed his jacket – “you are not throwing up on my new hoody”. And literally seconds later Luke grabbed the remaining jacket close by and spewed about half of his breakfast in it.

Now I was panic’d. It’s one thing to have sticky, smashed apple chunks on your windows and quite another to ride 6 more hours in the barf mobile. “Luke, stay cool, there’s an exit in ah, 1.3 miles we can get off at. Do you have to throw up again?” He assured me he actually felt better. But now it was Alexander’s turn to feel sick. He had grabbed the wrong jacket! Instead of his pristine hoody, he had “saved” Luke’s jacket. Alexander’s new hoody, with the Cal logo on it, was now soiled by Josh’s spew. He was mad and he angrily shouted “What, why did you puke on my hoody?”

At this point I started to laugh at the Seinfeldesque situation. “Alexander, you pulled the jacket away – if you hadn’t of done anything Josh would have thrown up in the jacket on top of the middle seat – his.” Alexander took that in for a second and chilled out — despite that his jacket now looked like a souvenir form a Grateful Dead concert and smelled worse.

As we approached the offramp and the gas station I was just praying that Josh had in fact contained the damage to one jacket – one that we could bag up and put in the trunk. Otherwise, we were going to have to find the nearest hazmat supplier. So as we parked I quickly jumped out of the car and raced to Josh’s door and gingerly pulled the jacket out. Nothing on the seat, nothing on the floor, it all looked good – we had containment. I gave Alexandersome money to get some gatorades and found a plastic bag to quarantine the damage.

In ten minutes, we were off again. And in a little over 6 hours we were home without further note. And as I pondered I think that what people say just might be true. While we had a great time hanging with family — it was the journey that we’ll most likely remember most.

The problem was purely rhetorical until one afternoon a neighbor, a couple of blocks away, mentioned that her boys never used their trampoline. Bingo. I remembered a few years back when my seven year old, Luke, “disappeared” for an hour. Only it turned out he wasn’t missing, he was happily bouncing on their trampoline. So I knew securing one would put me in the running for Dad of the Year.

Now the problem shifted to one of operations. After a quick peak into Kate’s yard my buddy Paul and I realized it was going to be a challenge to get the trampoline out without a crane. Still, we rolled the trampoline like a mini Ferris wheel to her side gate and then stopped and pondered. Paul, clearly the brains of the move operation, took over. “Dude, climb up on top of the tool shed and I’ll lift the trampoline up on edge.”

So I got up on the rickety shed and without sticking my size 13 sneakers through the thin shingled top heaved it up. And then we realized there was one more “minor” problem. There was a power line running not five feet over our heads. One gust of wind — and this was a stormy day — and the whole neighborhood would be lighting candles in their houses and a special one for me. Doubt started to set in. Was the trampoline really worth this much trouble? Why didn’t we just take it apart and reassemble it? Good questions, but sometimes you have to force the square peg into the round hole.

In this case, we deftly avoided the lines and got the trampoline to the other side. Halfway home! But we still had to get it in my yard and would have the same issue. So we both were thinking as we walked down the middle of our cul de sac carrying the extra wide trampoline flat. And looking like two lost fire fighters hoping to rescue a damsel in distress ready to jump from a burning building.

As we got in front of my house, Paul, again, came to the rescue. “We’re going over the roof,” he said. What? “Yeah, it will be easy, there are no power lines.” As we got in position, the ridiculousness of what we were doing started to set in. To save an hour and a half of dismantling and reassembly time we were actually moving a full size trampoline over rooftops. But before we had a chance to use some common sense we actually had done it.

I’ve moved a lot of things in my day, but this was a first. I doubt even Santa can claim better rooftop delivery…

So I did my fatherly duties – writing a “get out of jail” note to Ms. Bafeller, Luke’s teacher, calling my buddy Mike who lives near Reno to see if he was in, and picking up snacks for the trip. Friday at 12:45 didn’t come fast enough for Luke, who had his blue shorts, Cal jersey, Cal hoody, and Cal beanie on and ready to go. As I went to the school office to sign him out he was already there with a Cheshire grin on his face. Road trip!

First thing we do when we got in the car was crack open a couple of Coke’s – definitely need to caffeine up since the game probably would go to 11pm. And then we were off. Leaving in mid afternoon there was no traffic to be found and Luke quickly got comfortable – can I eat some of the Chex mix, can I play a game on your Blackberry, can I take my shoes off? Sure, sure, and sure. Little did I know the mistake I was making. Not 10 seconds after he pulled off his “Sweetness”, size 8, Kangaroo high tops did my nose start twitching. “Luke, what is that smell? Is that your feet?”

Whenever you catch him on something like this he puts on his best Cool Hand Luke smile. Meanwhile, my nose hair was on fire. “When was the last time you changed your socks? Luke pondered that question as if I just asked him to solve Einstein’s theory of relativity and after a long pause noted “about two weeks ago.”

Me: “Two weeks ago! Are you kidding me? Put those dogs down. How many pairs of socks did you pack?”

Luke: “Ah, I didn’t pack any. I really like these socks.”

Me: “Apparently, ugh. We will have to stop somewhere and get you some fresh ones.”

So I pulled out our Tom Tom navigator – we call it the Dum Dum because half the time it seems to suggest a route that is only slightly less convenient than going through Timbuktu. No stores nearby – we were already past Sacramento. Probably would have to hold my nose until we got to Reno. So we drove and drove, snatching quick breaths of fresh air out of our moon roof when we could, and finally the Dum Dum located our salvation – Wal-Mart. Being from Marin county, Luke had never been to a Wal-Mart before and was actually excited. We rolled in and immediately he noticed the gynormaty of it. There was even a McDonalds if we wanted fine dining.

But we were on a mission so we asked the greeter to direct us to boys socks. After asking again two more times and determining there was no way we would ever understand her we pointed ourselves towards the middle of the store and hoped we wouldn’t have to drop bread crumbs to find our way out. And then we hit the jackpot, for not two aisles past the socks we found jammies. Or I should say Luke found a pair of Bud Light jammies. Now, I’m not a beer drinker myself, but there was something pretty funny about $6.95 Bud Light jammies so we snatched up a pair. All good, we headed towards the check out and noticed another “only at Wal-Mart” buying opportunity. The $5 sunglasses. Luke had to get the aviators – now we were really set. In the car we gingerly picked up his nasty socks and secured them in a plastic bag and pulled out the new socks. “Ah, these breath,” Luke said. Not sure I would trust him on which pair of socks are the best, but if he was happy (and his odiferous feet were safely sheathed), then I was happy.

So we were off again, but now only 5 minutes from meeting up with a couple of Cal buddies who were also going to the game. Mike, who has no kids, had picked out a grille to meet up at. We got there and quickly ordered some margaritas and Roy Rodgers, but on closer examination of the menu realized why there was an “e” on the grille. There was no food edible for a ten year old – unless he started taking a hankering to pear based brochette. Hmmm, “well, we’ll get some dogs at the game.” We still had one last problem to solve before game time. Luke’s $5 sunglasses had a $50 security clip on it. Not kidding. We couldn’t get it off. It finally took three Cal grads and a serrated knife to free his shades. Now we were ready.

Heading from the center of the “Biggest Little City in the World” to the stadium. As we made our approach – not much more than two miles from downtown – we parked and started walking. Cal fans and Nevada fans walking towards the stadium. And then Mike and I spotted two freshman sorority sisters – one with a large N painted on her stomach and another with a large V – after all this was a nationally televised game and they were getting ready for their ESPN debut. We inquired where the rest of the crew was and they said they had bailed and all they had was N and V. Okay, would they mind posing with Luke for a quick shot? Of course – Kabam, Luke’s school street cred just increased 10 fold!

And then we were off to the stadium. Our tickets were at the Cal will call. After getting wrong directions 2 or 3 times we finally found where will call was – located inside the stadium. What? We actually picked up our tickets after we were in the stadium. Note to self, if you want to go to a free Nevada Wolf Pack football game wear opposing school colors and say you need to pick up tickets…But I digress. MacKay stadium is small – it seats 28,000 fans – and has at least one very unusual component. There’s a track field around the outside of the football field. Not unusual in of itself, but the track field actually runs under the stands beyond either end zone. I can only imagine a track meet there where you see the runners and all of a sudden they are under cover of the stands as they make their final turn for the finish line. “What happened to Bob?” “Oh, he must have stopped for a hot dog.”

The game itself was anti-climatic. Nevada, a two point underdog, put a whipping on my Bears, 52-31. Many of the Nevada fans had excessive obnoxious genes. Talking trash just cause. This wasn’t limited to the stadium. The next day several people saw our Cal colors and inquired about the game in a smack talky way. Oh well, that’s what a road trip is all about I guess. As we made our way home we decided to go by Lake Tahoe and then head out. Luke seemed more interested in hitting a Dairy Queen on the way. Why, because he saw a commercial for one and needed a “Blizzard” milk shake. Never mind that we also rented a speed boat on the lake and took it out and around Emerald Bay – arguably one of the prettiest lakes in the world.

Ah, to be ten years old. Certainly a road trip to remember.

At the end of the day there would almost assuredly be two more “no’s” for next year’s list. But I digress. We had the luck of attending the US Open on the second day of the event. Before the “cut”. As we showed up for what could have been 9 hours of golf – nirvana for most of the crowd around us — we heard that Tiger was coming up on 17. So we checked our map and made our way to the grandstand at the 18th hole. Not five minutes later there came Tiger. The red jacketed ushers held their hands wide to “shush” the crowd as Tiger pulled out his pitching wedge to extricate himself from the bad lie below the green – he needed to avoid a tree and pop over a bunker to safety. He got up and down, but he was not the Tiger of yore. As we followed him for the next four holes or so (he started on the 10th hole and played 10-18 and then 1-9) he couldn’t quite get his rhythm, missing a number of putts that you’ve come to expect he would sink.

A lot of other people seemed to have the same idea we had – follow Tiger and see what happens. That made it a bit difficult to easily see all the shots as the crowd lined the course five and six people deep – especially if you’re only 12 years old. But, sometimes you have to be creative if you want something. Alexander wanted to see and as luck would have it there were many oak trees lining the course. So, without double checking the list of no’s on our tickets I helped Alexander into a tree. He clambered up about 8 feet up and found a good vantage point. I expected at any moment one of the guys in the red jackets would tell him to get down, but they didn’t. In fact, Alexander actually climbed a couple of trees and even one of the cops walking with Tiger caught his eye and gave him a nod and a photographer gave him the thumbs up after getting a shot. What? Kind of crazy, but I think the officials were so used to servicing the 63 year old Sharper Image aficionado that they had no mindshare to worry about a precocious 12 year catching a glimpse of Tiger’s swing. While Alexander used his Boy Scout skills the average attendee came with all kind of gear – portable TV players, one legged stools to lean on, and the piece de resistance, the 4 foot extendable periscope binocular. Alexander was bummed we didn’t have one of those – they did look cool.

We did have the fortune of young legs and the ability to jump ahead of the crowd to keep track of Tiger and Ernie Els. Unfortunately Tiger’s luck was not as good as ours – he bogeyed two of the holes that we watched. So we scrambled ahead to grab lunch – the nine dollar burger – and then on to the signature hole with the little tree on the top of the cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. We were about to establish the “big no” for next year. Along the edge of the 523 yard sixth hole was a large tented pavilion for the hoity toity. Walking about thirty feet from the roped off course we looked up and saw a handful of guys watching from the pavilion. From where we were – about at the halfway mark of the hole — you couldn’t see the tees. And so as we were ending our day – over four hours of golf was all that a 12 year old could take, even if he was enjoying it immensely, as he was. So as we were walking back and saw a ball rolling down the slope – thirty feet from the roped off course – we only thought one thing. Someone had thrown the ball from the pavilion. So Alexander scrambled ahead and grabbed it…Ah, and this was like a George Costanza moment, as, as soon as he scooped it up several people started yelling, “no, no put it down.”

I could only think one thing “oh shit, Alexander picked up a live ball.” And so as Alexander quickly dropped the ball and before the red jackets swarmed the area I caught up to Alexander and whispered in his ear, “don’t worry, keep walking.” We probably broke the twelve and under “walk/jog” 100 yard dash. He was freaked out, but no one came after us as the red jackets focused on forming a wall around the ball – now about five feet from the cart path, but still twenty feet from the roped off area that keeps spectators back from the course. So we crossed to the other side of the hole and asked who had hit the ball there – no one seemed to realize that Alexander had just given the ball a new “lie”. Well, the first couple of guys didn’t know who it was, but then someone said it was Heath Slocum. Mr. Slocum, we later learned hails from Alpharetta, Georgia – not far from Alexander’s mom’s roots.

Well, now we were sweating a bit. This was a par five hole and Mr. Slocum was going to have to hit out of the rough from “Alexander’s drop”. We were now about 100 yards away and had to ask one of the spectators next to us what he was hitting – “looks like a three wood” and whether there was any penalty. “No, there’s no out of bounds”. What if he triple bogeyed? And then Slocum took a “safety” swing. We couldn’t see what happened, but we could hear. A mighty roar went up – he had got it on the green! We soon found out he birdied the hole. Now, we were feeling quite good about ourselves. After all, how many attendees of the US Open get to pick up a ball in play and give it such a favorable lie?

So on the way out we had to get a souvenir to remember this great day and after picking up our hat we started walking to the line for the buses that would take us back to our car. I could only think of the back of the ticket and the list of 17 no nos. It seems that despite what seemingly was a comprehensive list, we found two more things that will undoubtedly be added to the list. Next year the rules committee will probably add “no climbing trees” and almost assuredly “no picking up balls”, and then someone will probably “get it” and make it simple. How about this, “No twelve year old boys.”

The other day Michelle was doing some work in the garage and Andrew was dragging one of the boys baseball bats around.

Michelle: “What are you doing?”

Andrew: “Going to baseball practice.”

Michelle: “Okay, see you later.”

Andrew: “Bye bye.”

Michelle: [a minute goes by and he comes up to her with the bat.] “Now what are you doing?”

Andrew: “Back from practice.”

Michelle: “Oh, how was it?”

Andrew: [in a perfect pitch like his brothers after their own practice] “It was boring.”…

His greatest thievery, though, came off of third base. After the fifth game each season in Little League Minors you can steal home. Well, Luke wasn’t going to be hitting homeruns so he was determined to make an impact. If the catcher dropped the ball he was gone. If the catcher threw the ball to second when a runner on first tried to steal second, Luke broke for home. But his signature steal was on the throw back to the pitcher. He would take a walking lead off of third base after the pitch crossed the plate and try to look as nonchalant as possible. And he would see if anyone was noticing if the catcher was lobbing the ball back to the pitcher or if the pitcher was turning his back to third. Luke would be ready. On the next pitch he would again slowly stroll down the third base line 15 feet or so after the pitch and the instant the catcher lobbed the ball back to the pitcher he was off at full sprint for the plate. Twice he stole home in this manner with a slide to beat the throw back from the pitcher. But despite his creativity on the base paths the season was very disappointing for him – he couldn’t hit the ball. Michelle and I talked to him and asked if he would rather just concentrate on basketball this year, but he said no.

So he began another season. Except this time he seemed to be hitting the ball a lot better – his hand eye coordination finally coming together. Before games I would throw him batting practice from our driveway and he would hit tennis balls. In prior years for every ten I threw he might hit two – and those would be tips. Now he was making contact on seven of ten including putting four or five of those in fair territory and every once in a while launching a shot on or over the roof of the house — a homerun.

So fast forward to game three of the season. His team is not the most talented – but he is now one of the oldest players on the team and has shown his coach he’s a good hitter. He bats third – traditionally reserved for the best hitter in the lineup – same as a former left handed ballplayer by the name of George Herman Ruth. Hitting the ball well in Minors is a challenge. Every other pitcher has trouble finding the strike zone. Games typically drag past their 2 ½ hour time limit because it’s ball, ball, ball, strike, ball four. This game was no different. Luke walked twice, was hit on the heel with a pitch, and got a base hit driving in two runs. But he also almost personally drove out the best pitcher on the other team by fouling off six pitches in a row in his first plate appearance including a deep shot he pulled down the right field line just a foot or so foul, before walking. On the day he had two RBI’s, stole three bases, scored three runs, and threw two players out at the plate from third.

Despite those throws, he’s no Brooks Robinson, but I will venture to say he is the smartest kid on the field. His team had built up a huge early lead, but in their final at bat the other team had loaded the bases with their final hitter coming to the plate (in Minors only 9 kids can bat in an inning). If the hitter were to get a hold of one the game would be tied at sixteen. Before the first pitch Luke discreetly told his coach if they “intentionally” walked the batter they couldn’t lose. The coach didn’t pay him any mind. Until the batter took a big swing on the next pitch and then he walked to the mound. And Luke again said, “hey, if we throw a couple of balls and walk him we win.” The coach nodded and told the pitcher to throw it outside. And they did and the White Sox had their first win of the season.

Now, in a similar circumstance last year Luke’s team had lost by a run when the opposing team had done this to his team. The encyclopedic memory clicked and he remembered. Most people, including me, would not ask their pitcher to intentionally walk a player so that they could win, but when your nine year old makes this Bobby Fischer like move you have to stand back and applaud. Luke not only had a great game in the field, but he also played a great game in his head. His greatest baseball game of his life to date!

Dad: “Oh, yeah. Who asked who out?”

Alexander: “This girl did.”

Dad: “What do they do on a date?”

Alexander: “Go to the movies and stuff.”

Dad: “And who pays for the movie?”

Alexander: “I don’t know, I guess the boy does.”

Luke: “Cole [an 8th grader we know] went out with some girl.”

Alexander: “Yeah, she called him a “m-fer”.”

Dad: “What? Why?”

Alexander: “He wouldn’t dance with her at the school dance.”

Dad: “Let me tell you a secret. Mommy just had her 39th birthday and we went to a bar with a live band. Very cool music, good drinks, everyone had a good time. But you know what, the only people dancing were girls – Mommy and all of her friends. Guys typically don’t like to dance.”

Alexander: “Yeah?”

Dad: “Yeah. Anyway, has anyone asked you out?”

Alexander: “Yeah, a couple of girls.”

Dad: [hiding my surprise] “Who?”

Alexander: “Jatelyn and this other girl.”

Dad: “Jatelyn, isn’t she the crazy one from the bus?”

Alexander: “Yeah, even Mrs. Morella [the school principal], says “what’s up with Jatelyn?”

Dad: “So, what did you do when she asked you out?”

Alexander: “She’s a whack job, I just said no.”

Dad: “That’s good. Don’t go out with whack jobs. Is there anyone you would want to go out with?”

Alexander: [making a face] “No.”

Dad: “If you had to go out with someone. Who would you go out with?”

Alexander: “What do you mean?”

Dad: “You know, if you had to go out with someone, who would you pick?”

Alexander: “Amber?”

Dad: [I have no idea who Amber is, but did catch Alexander checking out a teenager in a bikini on our last trip to the beach so was wondering what his response would be…] “Why Amber? Is she cute, is she smart?”

Alexander: “No, she’s ah…she’s very quiet.”

Dad: [“quiet”, not exactly what I was expecting] “She doesn’t say much?”

Alexander: “No”

Dad: “Why’s that good?”

Alexander: “You know, she’s not always saying something.”

Dad: [thinking, he’s got this down, now give him the quality father advice that I never got] “You know, sometimes it’s cool to go out with a girl you don’t know too much. Did I ever tell you the story about how Mr. Tim got to see The Great Gretzky break the all time hockey goal record?”

Alexander: “No, how?”

Dad: “Well, this girl really liked him when we were going to UCLA’s business school and she had tickets and invited him.”

Alexander: “And he went out with her to see the game.”

Dad: “It was a great game – Dad’s are still telling their son’s about it 15 years later!”

Alexander: “Cool.”

When informed later that her oldest was being asked out by “whack jobs” Michelle was a little surprised, demanded all the details, and then was pissed that I had told Alexander that Mr. Tim had gotten to see the Great Gretzky on a date with a girl he didn’t even like that much. Maybe Alexander is on to something, pick the quiet ones…