My Texas Tech son called last night to chat. It still astounds me that he calls to talk to his old mom voluntarily, and it always brightens any day. After the usual discussion about his brother's money pit Batmobile, his new culinary experiments with Hamburger Helper, and his efforts toward training his roommate's cat based on his class in abnormal psych, he mentioned that he popped by the International Studies office. He got everything arranged to study next fall in Paderno, Ity, through the Rawls School of Business at Tech, and worked it out so his scholarship will pay for it.
I was so inspired by his adventuresome yet pragmatic spirit that I concocted a plan for Italian sandwiches for the senior lunch gang tomorrow--wheat hoagie buns, Genoa hard salami, jack, provolone, and mozzarella cheese slices, Kraft "Zesty Italian" dressing, fresh tomatoes, and red pepper slices. Will put them under the oven broiler briefly. In these situations, timing is everything. I may need to make a practice sandwich right about now.
When my future world-travel son was a tiny toddler and preschooler I had horrible recurring nightmares that he would be washed down a storm sewer. We used to call him Danger Baby. A profound snapshot shows him dressed in a bright green crocodile costume, with big fireman boots and a cowboy hat. He is standing on the saddle of a wooden rocking horse playing "Stunt Rider". Wild Boy that he was, he was always remarkably conscientious about his imaginary alligators. These invisible alligators rode on the back of his tricycle. Whenever they would fall off, he would stop his trike and carefully help them get back on.
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