Ask me

Ask me where YM is.  No, really, ask me.

He’s out bike riding with a friend from school.

After five years of having ZERO significant friendships with friends from school.  He has a couple of friends at shul, but kids from school, coming over?  Unheard-of.  Not since grade five or six, anyway.

So naturally, I’m suspicious.  What does he want with my own sensitive Rubik’s-cube prodigy slash someday-engineering-genius slash Talmudic iluy of a son???

A good last name certainly doesn’t mean he’s a nice boy.

A clean, pressed suit jacket doesn’t mean at all that he’s a nice boy.

Wearing a helmet when he comes to pick up my nice boy doesn’t mean he’s a nice boy… well, it could mean he’s a bit on the law-abiding side.

Coming from the 80s, my first thought when I wonder what kids are up to is “drugs,” but in this scenario, it’s probably more like Rubik’s cube hijinks or – possibly – illicit iPod Touch antics.

Or maybe, just maybe, they really are just out bike riding.  Which would be nice.  Which would mean he’s found a friend.

Very nice.


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