The Boy (this is what I call my 19 year old son), announced today in an early morning bit of inspiration, that he is a liberal, “as are most college kids my age,” he concluded. He waited, eyes steady on my face about a half a foot above mine, to hear my response to his declaration, as these days debating is what he loves best to do with me. I tried to balance between the revulsion I felt and the patient diplomacy I try and usually fail to practice. Plainly, I was astonished that this child of mine could be as socially malleable as to readily accept a label, no matter how good or politically correct he believed it to be, to not only allow but participate in his own pigeonholing. After several quiet moments had passed, during which I chopped half an onion and then scraped the pieces from the cutting board into the pan with the browning potatoes, I finally said, “I see, but is that good enough for you, to be confined by and loved or hated under the banner of such a fluid dependent label?” He was silent for a moment during which time I could almost hear the thoughts spinning in that head of his, then a smile split his usually solemn slightly insolent face wide open.
Mom one; Boy zero.
(Previously posted at 6 Sentences)