In a message dated 4/20/00 6:48:40 AM Central Daylight Time,
[log in to unmask] writes:

<< Sean's growing up is as much an experience for me as it is for him. >>

Son David busy visiting w/ the Prez, no joke, has no time, rightly so and
with my begrudging support for the command to succeed at school first, for
the left behind PU truck that his father paid $500 for, then invested another
$400 secretly in electrical wiring the last time it stopped in mid-course,
and is now giving away for FREE simply to get off the insurance bill since
the head blew in Manhattan and two months later it is still sitting in
mechanic's lot, but now sitting in Apple lot waiting to be hauled away. So,
this AM I am extricating the wooden box son built and chained to bed of truck
in order to store his gear and as I pull the box off the tailgate the bottom
falls out, four short screws just don't make it, and behold a collection of
empty and broken CD jewel cases, who knows where the CDs went, odd clothes,
one half of a pair of my missing warmer socks, some of my tools (been there,
done that), some odd wood carvings that look like aborted attempts at maple
whale fins, a wet and dysfunctional box of galvanized sheetrock screws spewed
around, I love picking these things up, and several plastic quarts of oil.
The oil leaks and I manage to get it all over my pantsleg before I realize I
am being attacked. Quick revenge, I wrap the quarts in one of his T shirts.
As I am picking up the collection I keep saying to myself, "And now I
understand my mother, and now I understand my mother. God, I'd better giver
her a call and apologize."

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