I took Calfgrit8 out last evening, just the two of us, to go get Calfgrit4 a birthday present. (CG4 will turn CG5 on October 15.) I wanted to use this time not just for gift-getting, but also for some one-on-one time with CG8. We haven’t had much alone time together in a while, and I felt like we both needed it. (I need and want some alone time with CG4, too, and that will come soon, I hope.)

As we drove out, I asked him where we needed to go to get what he wanted to give CG4: Target, Toys R Us, somewhere else? He said Target. I then asked him if he was hungry and wanted to eat before or after shopping. He said after. So we went to Target.

At the store, he knew exactly what he wanted to get his little brother – they’ve apparently discussed this: a particular Pokemon deck. We went straight to Pokemon cards, and Calfgrit8 immediately grabbed the specific boxed deck. There was no looking around, no examining the selection, just straight to and grab it.

When we left the store, I asked him where he wanted to get dinner. In that shopping center there are several restaurants I like and I know he at least doesn’t dislike: Chili’s, Red Robin, IHOP, Fridays, and several smaller places. He chose Panera; I wouldn’t have guessed that. We went to the bagel and sandwich shop.

Calfgrit8 is a great kid. He’s normally polite and well behaved. Sometimes, though, when with his little brother, he gets a little passive/aggressive, and he loses his manners. Also when the brothers are together, he gets a little less mature – he tends to regress back toward CG4’s age. I think this might be because his little brother can’t really advance up to his age, so to have some common ground, CG8 has to “stoop down” in age a bit. And there’s also the sibling rivalry aspect, which as my brother and I can attest (at around 40 years of age), will make anyone drop a maturity level or twenty.

But when CG8 and I are alone together, his intelligence and maturity comes through. We sat in a booth talking and eating our bagel and sandwich. He seems to love asking me questions about random stuff. Apparently he asks these random questions of other people (his mother, his teacher, his grandparents, etc.) and when they can’t answer them, he brings them to me in batches.

“What does the a.m. and p.m. stand for in telling time?” he asked.

He knows they mean before noon and after noon, but he didn’t know what the initials stood for. I explained ante meridiem and post meridiem.

“Cool,” he said, “I’ll tell my teacher. She didn’t know what they meant.”

“What does ‘all rights reserved’ on a movie mean?” he asked.

I tried to give a short-form explanation of copyrights and reserving them, but this question and answer led us down an unexpectedly long discussion about creating stuff, getting paid for selling the stuff, and the wrongs of copying and selling other people’s stuff. Although copyright is a subject somewhat intertwined with my career (and this site), I didn’t intend to get into the depths of it with an 8-year-old, but he kept asking for more explanation and examples.

I really didn’t think we’d be spending our father-and-son time talking about copyrights, but it was still good just to have the together time.

Some fathers and sons sit around talking about football and cars. I and my son sit around talking time zones and copyright law. I love him so.

Bullgrit

Those of you who have been following my life as presented here know that we recently (quickly) sold our house. And since we decided to build a new house, we’ve been shacked up with Cowgrit’s mother for a few weeks. When we left for our vacation, our new house was just a concrete foundation.

The day after we got back from our Disney World adventure, Cowgrit and I drove by to see if anything had been done while we were away. There was a house standing there, both stories. Now, the interior walls are just the frame studs, and the outside walls are still covered in plastic, but glory-be, it looked like a house was sitting on our lot!

That was last Sunday. This Sunday, yesterday, it looks like the only advancement has been that they’ve added windows and exterior doors. In one week, they put up the whole two-story frame, but in the next they only put in windows. I realize there was probably other work done that isn’t obvious to the layman like me, but still, it’s frustrating to see such a big leap in construction and then see what looks like a fall back to snail’s pace.

I took the boys’ to the new house yesterday, and took them on a tour. I explained the floor plan, what the rooms would be, and how we’d get around in the house. They seemed most interested in being able to “walk through the walls.” Sigh.

They were more excited by “our backyard is a mud pit!” and the pile of gravel in our front yard than they were by any real construction that’s gone on with the house.

Bullgrit

Sorry, but I’m not going to show pictures of me or my family.

Looking through our photographs of our adventure in DW, I re-affirmed that I don’t like having my picture taken. I just ain’t photogenic.

Looking at one pic of me, I commented to Cowgrit, “You know, they say a camera adds 10 pounds.”

“No,” she replied, “the cookies and cheese cake add 10 pounds.”

Hey, she’s the one that set up our vacation meal reservations — mostly at buffets.

Anyway, here are some photos from Disney World that might be interesting only to someone with a strange sense of what might make a good photo in Disney World.

This might be my next car:

Brogrit says he wants a Hummer. I found him one:

But he’ll need a regular gig to afford it. I found that for him, too:

See, little brother, I’m looking out for you.

Bullgrit

Me and the boys were ending our excursion through Target the other day, and I was directing them to a fast checkout counter. The Pokemon cards hang on the shelf right next to the fast checkout section, so getting the boys past that distraction is like herding cats past a shelf of shiny, dangly string toys.

“Go on, boys,” I urged, “we’ve got to checkout and go, now.” I started to tell them which of the two counters to go to — the one I had randomly selected on the spur of the moment — when I stammered.

The two cashiers were young girls (teenagers), with medium-short, black hair. They both, of course, wore red shirts and khaki pants (the normal uniform for Target folks). The one obvious difference between the two girls was one was white and the other was black.

The words on the tip of my tongue were, “Let’s go right over here to the black girl.” Their skin color was the most easily identifiable difference between them. (At least that was the most “easily identifiable” difference for young boys — or a middle-aged man — to recognize between two teenage girls.)

I held my statement when I realized how that might sound. I changed my direction to “Um, the girl on the right,” and they followed my pointing finger. (Calfgrit4 still hasn’t come to get right and left correct every time, yet. Especially when we’re facing each other.)

Now, had the two cashiers been a teenage girl and a middle-aged woman, I wouldn’t have hesitated identifying them as “the woman” or “the girl.”

Had they been a male and female, I wouldn’t have hesitated saying, “the guy” or “the girl.”

Had they different color hair, I wouldn’t have hesitated saying, “the blonde” or “the one with black hair” (I don’t know if the boys know “brunette” yet).

Had they just about any other distinguishing feature between them, I don’t think I’d have hesitated to use that as an identifier to direct the boys.

But I choked on “black” and “white.” Why is that?

Bullgrit