A Liberal (6 Sentences)

shapeshift / Fot­er

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)