As we’re passing a watch shop in the Buffalo airport, my son, age 15, says, “That reminds me — I need a new watch.”
I say, “Why do you need a new watch? When we were getting my watch, you told me you already had a cool watch.”
“When was that?”
“I don’t remember but it wasn’t that long ago.”
“I didn’t say my watch was cool,” he says. “I just said your watch was lame.”
My wife’s in a great mood. She’s just back from grocery shopping at the local Korean market, where fresh produce is sold cheaply.
“Guess how much for these,” she says excitedly, holding up a package of eggs.
“How many are there?”
“Twenty.”
I haven’t bought eggs in years so I have no idea how much they cost. I’m thinking of guessing $1.99 but I don’t want to undershoot the real price and take all the fun out of it for her.
“Two ninety-nine,” I say.
“Ninety-nine cents!” She’s now holding up a small carton of fruit. “How much for these?” she asks.
“What are those?”
“Boysenberries.”
“Ninety-nine cents,” I say, since that was the right answer on the eggs.
“Thirty-three cents! How can they sell this stuff so cheap?”
“They sneak around local farms by night, stealing eggs and boysenberries. It’s the only possible explanation.”
I’m at Target shopping for a new watch. My son is with me. He’s 15 years old.
“Bah,” he says, sizing up the display. “Where’s the platinum stuff?”
“Look,” I say, “all I need here is an inexpensive watch that’ll tell me what time it is.”
A guy behind us chortles. He knows what I’m talking about; he’s browsing through a rack of $19 Ray-Ban knockoffs.
“Buy what you want then,” the boy says. “But my watch is very attractive to the ladies.”
“What kind of watch do you have?” He’s not wearing one so I have to ask.
“I’ll give you a hint,” he says. “It starts with an ‘R.’”
“Very funny. What kind of watch do you have?”
“OK, it’s a Casio. But it’s got a really cool band.”
Everyone’s got armbands and 3-D glasses . . .
Irvine schools are on spring break this week. I took a day off for father-son activities with my boy, age 15.
As we were driving back from lunch at Wingstop, I said, “You want to see Monsters vs. Aliens in 3-D IMAX?”
“Not particularly,” he said.
I’d already decided that I did want to see it so I got off at the Irvine Spectrum exit.
“I guess this means we’re going to see it,” he said.
“You know what they say: Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time, but regret for the things we didn’t do is inconsolable.”
“Oh shut up, Sophocles. It’s a movie for two-year-olds.”
“No it isn’t. There’s a giant girl in it. It looks cool.”
“I’ll be the combined age of everyone else in the theater.”
We got there a little early so we bought the movie tickets and walked around the Spectrum for a while. I bought a Tommy Bahama shirt and the boy got some red sneakers at Vans.
I have to admit that the movie didn’t really live up to my expectations, but the 3-D IMAX was good and I liked this line from BOB, the monster with no brain, when the battle against the aliens looks hopeless:
“Gentlemen, I may not have a brain — but I have an idea!”
In the evening, the boy had a high school roller hockey game and his mom and I watched him. It was a good day . . .
My son’s looking forward to February when his braces come off . . .
“Throw some Crest whitening strips on there and the sky’s the limit as far as girlfriends are concerned,” he says.
“Girls are a distraction right now,” his mom says. “You need to focus on academics.”
“Mom’s right,” I say. “Having a wife or a girlfriend is like taking a 5-year-old to the mall. You can’t go as fast as you want to because the 5-year-old can’t keep up the pace. And you’re not going to be able to accomplish the things you want to accomplish . . .”
“Don’t give the boy a bad attitude,” she says.
“. . . because the 5-year-old is . . .”
“Whatever you’re going to say . . .”
“. . . monopolizing your attention . . .”
“. . . don’t say it.”
“. . . with her juvenile behavior.”
