Having slept well for the last several years, I decided to have a child.
“I can’t today,” my wife said. “There’s a protest downtown. What if
the little one gets trampled by skinheads? Is that the kind of world you want
her to grow up in?”
“Well, she’ll have to learn someday,” I said. “What if we just had a little one?”
“That’s how they all start,” my wife said, gathering her purse
and mace, “and pretty soon they’re big and not so cute and you have
to get them spayed.”
“No,” I said, “that’s something else.”
“No,” she said, “what I said is accurate.”
“I’ll ponder that,” I said and followed her out the door. “What are you protesting
“It’s better if you don’t know,” she said.
“Why is it better?” I said.
“It’s better if you don’t know that either,” she said. She put on her sunglasses. We
were standing in the driveway. A neighbor was berating his child, pointing at the
daffodils. She got into her car and rolled down the window. “I’ll tell you later,” she said.
“How much later?” I said.
“Maybe not for years,” she said. She pulled into the street and waved
at the neighbor or maybe it was the kid. Either way. It was turning into
a big day. I had a lot to think about.