Sometimes, some event from the past suddenly resurfaces in memory. As I was sitting her contemplating my lack of any ideas for a post this morning, I recalled a conversation with a long forgotten school friend, not long after my tenth birthday had brought me a much awaited BB gun.
Friend: Wow. A BB gun? Where do you shoot it.
YoungDarwin: In the back yard.
Friend: That's so cool. I want one of these. The first thing I'd do is shoot my sister right in the butt. Do you ever do that.
YoungDarwin: Ummm. No. [Thinking: And that's why I have a BB gun and you don't...]
The fact is, I was always one of those boring "good kids" in most respects. Which is why at ten I got a BB gun, at thirteen I was allowed to buy a black powder revolver and start visiting shooting ranges, at fifteen I was allowed to brew my own wine, etc.
And knowing that I got unusual access because I was boring was one of the things that made it satisfying to remain boring and give my parents few worries. (Other than a tiresome habit of going on for hours about political subjects that didn't interest my mother.)
So if you are possessed of a boring child, make sure that being boring hath its privileges. Sometimes its that quiet, slightly nasty sense of superiority that makes it easy to remain upon the path.
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