Rain or no rain, I had no problem tossing Imaginary Keith out the front door this morning. Someone has to pay for this debacle.
“But I’m discussing beards on women with the boy,” he said. “I’m thinking I should maybe skip work today.”
One of the nice things about the boy is that, at nine, he now finds himself entering the great knowledge period of his life. He learns things simply by waking up, and has an informed, fully-developed opinion on every subject.
“Women can’t have beards,” I hear the boy tell Imaginary Keith. “Men have beards. Women don’t.”
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” I’m not quite sure it’s the approach Imaginary Keith should take with his son, but I keep my opinions to myself. Besides, when I think about it, just which approach should a father take with his son when discussing beards on women? Does the father attempt to teach his son the importance of accepting all people for who they are, and not what they look like, including women with beards? Or does he talk from the gut, letting his uneasiness with women’s beards show in his every word? It’s times like these that I’m glad I’m not the boy’s father.
“Dad, are you sure? I’ve never seen a woman with a beard.”
“Well, you’ll have to trust me on this one, son. They’re out there.”
It’s the vague approach to truth. I watch Imaginary Keith wave his arm around, apparently pointing out the general direction of all the bearded women. The boy follows the movements of his father’s arm, the seed of his father’s paranoia planted in his young mind.
“Yea, there out there, just like you,” I tell him, and shove him out the door. “Don’t come back until you’ve earned a few bucks.”
“But Ruckert still has my license.” Like his argument about the existence of bearded women, it’s a weak case. I wave my arm around in the general direction of work and close the door.