February 10, 2009

Show Me Your Veins

It is quiet now and I am thankful for it. I need the quiet. I need a moment, strike that, I need many moments where it is quiet and I can decompress. So here I am listening to The Beatles sing While My Guitar Gently Weeps and sharing these words with you.

Should I share the anatomy lesson of the evening or talk about how Facebook is a walk through my life, both past and present. Can we talk about the future and how sometimes it seems so uncertain and yet so permanent. Perhaps we can bang the blog and see what shakes loose. Surely there are some old posts that are worth revisiting.

Or maybe we'll just scroll through all of these topics and more and see where we end up. Are you ready?

Earlier tonight the big guy took his evening shower and regaled me with tales of his day. I got the rundown on what happened in school and what he learned. It was kind of fun listening to him lecture me on how to spell Matisse. He made sure that I understood that it is spelled differently from how it sounds. I heard about math and history and minyan. All sorts of fun stuff.

Midway through his monlogue he looked at me and said "Dad, can I see your butt?" Now, that is not the normal course of conversation, so I asked him why. He told me that he wanted to see if I had any veins in it. I assured him that my circulatory system was functional throughout my entire body, but he still pressed on.

In the midst of the conversation he turned around and bent over. He then spread his cheeks and shouted that I should look at his butt to see his veins. I thanked him for the opportunity and told him to stand up. He asked me if I was concerned about not knowing and I assured him that when he was born I conducted a head-to-toe inspection and was confident that eight years later his butt still had veins in it.

Then he asked me if Darth Vader could use the Force to remove the veins from your butt so that you would die. I can't wait to talk about this at his Bar Mitzvah and then again at his wedding. As a matter of fact I told him that. So he asked me if his mother had veins in her butt.

I was really tempted to tell him that our bedeken was a bit different. We had the ceremonial checking of the veins, the ceremonial checking of the veins in the tuchus, known as the V.I.T. But common sense reigned surpreme and I did not say anything.

Nor did I respond to his comment about whether we have a main vein. If you don't follow the reference don't worry about it.

Somehow we made the jump from veins to basketball and whether I could beat Kobe in a game of one-on-one. I explained that I appreciated his faith in my ability, but confessed that I couldn't beat him. He smiled and told me that he loved watching the Lakers beat the Cavs and the hated celtics and I told him that loved it too.

I think that I'll save the other stuff for a different post. It is rather late here so for now I think that I will sign off. See you in the A.M.


therapydoc said...

Oh, eight!

Jack said...

It is a great age for scatalogical humor.