It's snowing the kind of snow I love. The flakes are falling slow, sticking to trees... and the important part, the storm is shutting down the town. The world is forced to sit still and that's good for everyone. The chop, chop, busy, busy is too much - too often too much. Snow, however, does not slow down teenagers. I'm in my space reading Albert Camus – chilling to the winter chill and my kid smashes the serenity with SCIENCE! The science fair is 6 weeks out and she has chosen - with sudden urgency - to do a behavioral science experiment about optical illusions. I'm qualified to help her, I have a degree in behavioral science. I don't remember how I got the degree – I”m no scientist – I just remember why I got the degree. I didn't want to major in business and didn't have the guts to major in art. Anyway, how do you get a BA (bachelor of arts) in BHS (Behavioral Science) isn't that just BS (bullshit)? To my point, my kid is wearing my lucky #31 Drew Ranger shirt. She dug it out of deep storage in my closet. No space is private or sacred where a child resides. It was my special shirt – a high-quality Champion shirt back (1989) when that company made the best athletic clothes on the planet. I'd saved the shirt all these years in the hope that I'd give it to my wife. To me, the t-shirt was more sincere than a diamond wedding ring could be. The marriage didn't happen – I blew it – and the shirt has sat so long in the closet it has now shrunk from a large to a small. As the snow falls today, I've given up on the soul mate wedding thing dream. I am letting my daughter have the t-shirt. It looks good on her, my sweet science nerd.
Remarks by George Furman
I decided to make a list of the things I need to do. Lists are handy-dandy and do the job. To make my list, I needed to sharpen a pencil. The art box was full of dull pencils. One sharp pencil felt like not enough. the feeling compelled me to sharpen pencils until the motor of the electric pencil sharpener over-heated and shut down – about 2 dozen pencils. I turned to the old Exact-o sharpener – the one used to by kids since the dawn of time as an excuse to get out of their seat in school. I sharpened until a blister formed. I had reasons, a list forming long and wise of reasons to have a bucket of sharp pencils on hand. I'm teaching my daughter to draw – or the art books I piled upon her are teaching her to draw. She'll have sharp pencils. I'd make her more, but my blister hurts.