Bad Day At Black Rock

My dad used to report during supper that his day at work had been a "bad day at Black Rock". I think this line came from one of the I-Can-Read-It-All-By-Myself book club books we got in the mail. The book was about good guys and pirates. The good guys put on diving suits while they dropped a swarming beehive on the bad pirates. I am pondering whether the only way to defeat the political pirates is to put on old-fashioned diving suits and drop swarming beehives on them. Does Wesley Clark know how to smoke the bees?

My dad used to leave the house each morning to walk down the hill to the bus stop with his brown bag lunch. He would ask my mother, "If I quit before noon, should I bring my lunch home or leave it there?" This deep philosophical question resonates with me more than the tree falling in the forest.

Nowadays my mom asks the question. "Howard, would you rather take care of the dead possum on the north side of the house before or after your tea and cherry pie?" It's something to think about. I plan to ask the boys, "Would you rather unload the dishwasher before or after you take care of the dead possum on the north side of the house?" "Would you rather clean your bathroom before or after your tea and cherry pie?" "Would you rather eat the dead possum on the north side of the house or make yourself a sack lunch?"

In a simpler time, I used to ask the boys if they would like to take a Lunchable to school. They would answer that they would prefer to wear underpants on their heads than take a Lunchable to middle school. Boxers or briefs?