One brother struggling with his math homework.

Another brother strolls by and says, “I’ll help you, because I’m bored.”

Well, it doesn’t equal pure kindness, but at least he’s helping and I guess the truth counts for something.  Sounds like brotherly love to me.

One child headed to bed with a book in hand.

Second child headed to bed with a book in hand.

Could it be?  Could we have a full literary sweep?  Could paper have bested digital?

Third child headed to bed with…  an iPad in hand.

Oh, so close.  Nice try, school.  Better luck next trimester.

My Sixth Grade son, Sam, needed to make a box out of paper for a class.  I am not really sure why.  I do not ask many questions.  I just report to duty, when needed.

Sam was making good progress on his own.  He found an origami channel on YouTube.  It provided step-by-step “How to make a box” instructions, although at a really fast pace.  Turns out too fast for Dad.

Sam was folding away and then called me in to help.  I asked to see the video.  The problem seemed to be at 1 minute 22 seconds into the video.  The teacher’s hands moved at a rapid pace on the screen.  My tired eyes kept replaying the same 5 seconds of video, over and over again.

Poor Sam grew frustrated.  Soon his hands were also flying across the screen.  Tensions grew.  We were both well on our way to “Why is he so stupid” level frustration.

Then by some miracle.  Some divine smile sent our way.  We folded, we tucked, we taped, and there before us sat a box made of paper.  A little crooked.  A little off plumb.

It did not matter.  Sam was happy.  He smiled and thanked me for my help.  Thank God, my Sam is not a perfectionist.  In that way, he is absolutely perfect.

It was a normal commute.  Two lanes of traffic toddling along.  Nothing to disrupt the flow.  Just people going about their business.

Then suddenly, the large truck two cars in front of me turned on some flashy warning lights.  Okay, but not entirely expected.  Then it began to slow down.  Expected.  Then it began spraying water at the median.  What?!?  Is that even a thing?  Completely unexpected.

Then began the dance, the “Can I please move over into your lane?” dance began.  What was worse were the cars in back of me who would move over and then cut off the rest of us slugs who had our blinkers on, but were suddenly invisible.

I waited my turn.  I was patient, honest, but enough is enough.  I saw a slight opening.  My turn.  I just need the other car to show a sign of slowing.  I waited a second.  Nothing…  they were not going to let me in.  They were leaving enough space to tease me, but not enough for safe entry.  What was I?  Invisible?  Less worthy than them?  A car that deserved to be left behind the weirdly spraying truck?

I felt insulted.  Somewhat hurt.  Ready to finally assert myself.  I was a human, after all.  I had rights.  No one should have to crawl along behind Mister Sprinkles the Truck.  I made my move.

Blinker on, I merged.  Oh, they would know I was there.  The space was big enough for my car.  Was their heart open to my presence?

Strange, but having an SUV assert itself gets you noticed.  Magically, there was room now for my car.  I was no longer invisible.  I was somebody.  Sure, I was sort of a jerk, but at least I was now a jerk with a backbone.  A jerk with a backbone, who was newly liberated from the mysteries of a spraying truck.

May your evening be filled with wonder.  The same wonder as a 9-year-old up late reading past his bedtime.

On my desk at work sits a photo.  I must have seen it a thousand times.  My lovely bride and me in Florida.

Today, however, was the first time that I noticed something.  Something that made me smile.  If genes have anything to do with it, when my boys are older…

They are gonna have some killer calves.

As my 6th Grader Sam considered going to the Fall Dance at school, I got to thinking.  If he goes, Sam will have tied my lifetime school dance attendance record with one (Prom).

Way to go, buddy.  Now, any dances over the next six years will add to your record.  Dance like no one’s watching.

So you take a late lunch to go to the dentist.  You are being such a good boy and getting your teeth cleaned.

All is well, until the very last moment.  That moment, when the dentist stops in to look at your x-rays.  That moment when she pauses and says that you have a crack on the side of a tooth.  Dammit!  She has photographic proof, too.  That little piece of tooth would have to go.

Then the bonus question, “Do you have time today?” Does the Tooth Fairy have wings? (I assume so.)

I suck it up.  The saliva from having my mouth open for a half hour.  The “I promise to pay” sign-off sheet.  The need to take some flex time, because this is taking way longer than planned.  Yep, I suck it all up.

Then the drilling starts.  This is not so bad, until the dentist starts making progress on the sliver of tooth that has to go.  Then you feel something zoom across your mouth.  I am sure that tooth chunk is lodged somewhere in the dentist office wall.

A little grinding, a little polishing, and presto!  Repaired mouth!  Not bad for a lunch break.  No, I take it back.  That was a bad lunch break.

All day today, I was thinking that it was Wednesday.  It is Tuesday.  Just not right.

Sort of not right, like me posing with a giant ear of corn.

Or not right, like spying some clowns pushing a small duck through a parking lot.

Or eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich made with a top sliced hot dog bun.

Wait!  Did you say, “Top Sliced Hot Dog Bun?” Now, that is just brilliant.

Mind blown.

Thank you, Pepperidge Farm!

Some people have fancy cars.

Some people have big screen TVs.

Well, I have a furry dishwasher.

Lick…

Those…

Plates…

Good dog.