So, it’s Day 15 of Single Daddin It’ and we’re at the dinner table, that place of ever-illuminating discussion, and Jon blurts out, ‘Hey Dad, if you got shot, would you rather be shot in the mouth or in the eye?’
I looked up from my Kraft Dinner and hotdogs.
I mean, really, has it come to this? Has it descended this far? Their mother leaves for a short while (okay 15 days and counting BABE!) and the kids are now hatching a plan to murder the Old Man?
I can just hear them talk in their little private meeting.
Hannah: I’ll tie his hands.
Liz: I’ll put the bag over his head.
Jon: I’ll shoot him. But where should I shoot him?
Liz: In the head!
Jon: But where in the head?
Hannah: Let’s ask him.
Jon. Yeah, that’s a good idea. He’s always telling us to ask before we just go ahead with stuff.
‘Well,’ I said to Jon, and looked up from my supper and then to our swords on the living room wall, the ones from Yemen, the swords that I’m sure would suffice in a pinch. ‘I’ve never thought about it. Son.’
Jon then informed me that he’d rather get shot in the eye because he has two eyes, one for a backup for this very sort of thing.
Okay. The moment passed. Such is our dinner talk.
But really, with three days to go before Mom (Mom! Oh Mooommm!!) gets back, we’re all doing fine. Sort of. Well, we’ve only eaten dog food once as far as I recall. Or maybe that was a dream during that sleep I had that one night.
And since we’re talking about guns and all that, some of you know Jean and I were in Korea not all that long ago. One afternoon we found ourselves at the border of the North, at the DMZ, the demilitarized zone where there happens to be a few guns here and there.
From some recent Spectator files, here’s a column on that particular real-life drama: