No Comfort in the Truth

Bicycling has become mine and my oldest son's, Vinny, favorite athletic endeavor lately. I love it for the exercise, as well as the release of his pent up energy he would normally use to torture his younger brother. And, no, I am not trying to be funny here. On the other hand, Vinny loves it because we usually hit the snack bar, at the local baseball field, for candy.

There is a lot of bribery involved.

"If we do four laps around the park we can buy some candy," I say.

A lap takes approximately five minutes, though I didn't know this until today. We usually do our four laps, eat some candy and go home. Unfortunately, for Vinny, we arrived 45 minutes before the start of the first game. I was ecstatic, envisioning lap after lap, instead of the usual four.

"Laps versus dishes?" this question never crosses my mind.

"Oh no, I have to get home to the dishes," is not something I would think, let alone say outloud.

"How much longer til the game starts?" he asks after each lap.

Towards the end, he was getting tired and we were doing more talking than pedaling.

"What are they building over there? he asks. Oh, I know. I figured it out. It's a house," he says answering his own question.

"Actually it's a teen center," I say.

"What's a teen center?" he asks.

"A place for teenagers to hang out and play games," I say.

"Can adults go there?" he asks.

"No," I say.

"Can little kids go there?" he asks imagining escaping from our clutches.

"No," I say.

"Why not?" he asks.

"Because sometimes teenagers are inappropriate and it isn't OK for little kids to be around them," I say firmly.

"Someday, I am going to an inappropriate teenager," he says informing me of his future aspiration.

"What do you mean by that?" I ask trying to hide my anxiety.

"You know, I'm going to be like all the other teenagers," he explains, not easing my mind at all.