Today is my son Sam's birthday. He's 8 years old now. We're going to see Willy Wonka tomorrow to celebrate. I was disappointed to hear Gene Wilder diss the new version of it. What's it to him? Who do you think has fancier hair, Gene Wilder or Johnny Depp? Anyway, Sam always chooses to do something with us, his family, instead of having a big party with friends. This is nice and it's usually what I wanted to do as a kid too. For my tenth birthday all I wanted to do was see Rocky III which had just come out. My step-dad had just gotten a vcr and he initially insisted that I have a video party in order to make use of this new-fangled technology. I was crushed, but don't worry. I did get to see Rocky III for my birthday and have forgiven my step-dad, for that.
I bought myself a Rocky III poster. I used to go to the mall and flip through those poster holders at stores like Hallmark looking at cool stuff. Things are so different for me now--now I have the internet. My little sister Carly ripped that poster down one day. That was hard to forgive, but I did. Incidentally, Carly is currently enjoying two weeks on the Oregon coast. Oh dear--sorry, I was just thinking to myself that I hope she remembered to pack her prescription deodorant.
So anyway, for his birthday Sam wanted scriptures, a laptop, various Star Wars paraphernalia, and two rats. At the pet store Sam read a sign on a cage (of well-endowed male rats) that rats are best for 8 year olds--and do best with a playmate. Huh. Interesting. What's that age you learn to read well enough by to read smallish print on animal cages? Oh, right-right-right. 8. So he's been talking about how he's best-suited to a pet rat. . .make that two rats. But, with all due respect to the ratpeople of the world (and you know who you are), that ain't gonna happen. Bald tails and "musky" secretions are not my style. What is my style, you may ask? Don't patronize me.
Sweet, sensitive Sam--He looks pretty much the same but, I don't know, somehow he seems more accountable.
It really makes you think. And ponder. I wonder how my mom felt when I turned 8. Perhaps we'll never know.