m. is out on the town tonight and i owe her a weekend night (we do week-about with p. and last weekend she was good enough to take him when i had an urgent need) so she brings p. by.
he walks in wearing a swank jacket with a soft-shell guitar case containing his acoustic guitar and an iPod in his ears. the boy is friggin' 6 years old. i thought he was supposed to start trying to out-cool his dad in his teens. i figured i had another 8-10 years. nooooooo.
best yet, i'm totally not cool with the drm crud that apple pulls with their iPod, iTunes, etc... this is why i don't own one. and what does the little guy do? walks in the house in a state of complete rebellion, white earplugs flowing from his ears. rebellion's not supposed to start until the pubes do, right? apparently not.
and then he proceeds to wax me at battleship.
suddenly i feel 50 rather than 31. thankfully, i have a bottle of aquavit from my last trip to norway to console me.
it's nights like these where i watch in wonder as he unfolds before me beyond my wildest expectations that i feel that fulfillment that they always say parenting will bring.