plane
My three day odyssey in search of a Better Me © wound up the metaphorical equivalent of a palindrome: I departed from the valley, set my flag upon the summit, and then tumbled all the way back down.
The Paper Airplane Book succeeded as a highly capable map towards reaching and caressing my inner child.
My own child, on the other hand, failed in his role as SHERPA.
/cue the ducks
Scene: Today was unusual in the Puget Sound in that it was very humid. My hair, not having seen the barber’s blade in some time, assumed ARENA ROCK PROPORTIONS. My solution was to borrow one of my wife’s hair bands to tie it up.
Here are some appropriate reactions to seeing your father with his hair up:
Dad looks like a Pirate!
Dad looks like a Samurai!
Dad looks like Johnny Depp!
Inappropriate reactions:
Who’s the chick?
So, the Paper Airplane Book had one major fault: As a soft-cover, it proved insufficient in delivering the appropriate level of beating necessary to rectify the above offense.
* * *
Epilogue
I have come to discover over the years that you cannot ply your inner child with candy, because every child knows that accepting treats from strangers only leads to one thing: B-list child actors portraying your lifeless corpse in a made-for-TV production. The paper airplanes were nice, but what’s really needed, as the responses to my erstwhile ponytail have shown, is a good, old-fashioned cut-to-the-chase kick in the horsenuts (sp?).
So, seriously. Lay it on me. I’m updating my ‘Readers Describe…’ sidebar over the weekend. Home Improvement Ninja has earned the first spot.
Hurt me, people.
It’s the only way.
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