My Baseball Rant

When Fern first picked up a baseball bat at the age of two, he was absolutely delighted.  He had no idea he could launch a ball so far by swinging a bat.  He would roll on the floor with laughter every time he did it.  But sometimes, he would miss my pitches.  And once, when he missed several in a row, he got frustrated.  With me.  He pointed to his bat and said, "See the bat, Poppa?  See the bat?"

Apparently, I was not doing my job.

Timing Your Retirement

I never understood why people hate jury duty.  Most seem to just gripe and complain about it.  I even have a friend who grew a beard and dressed like a hippie so he would get excused.  (It worked.)  (Of course, if you knew him, you'd know he was going to be excused anyway.)

Me, I always wanted to serve.  I saw it as my right and my duty to participate.  I also always figured it would be really interesting.  One day, when Fern was in Kindergarten, I finally got my chance.  The night before my big day, I was planning logistics with Rooty at dinner.  (We share a car.)  Fern was puzzled.

"Poppa, why do you have to go the courthouse?"

"I am on jury duty."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, I get to help decide who is a good guy and who is a bad guy."

Fern got up out of his chair and walked over to me.  He put his hand to my ear and whispered.

"If he has a gun or a mask, he's a bad guy."