Rite of Passage

Puck carefully scratched more Sharpie over the sheet of paper, to cover every centimeter. I read the daily email devotion to him from Dad…

“…If a priest’s daughter marries a layman, she shall not eat of the contribution of the holy things.”

Puck didn’t even stop the scrawling…

“That’s not fair,” he concluded.

I explained.

Bær had been out since eight, skeet shooting in Illinois with buddies. And while Puck watched Phineas and Ferb build a roller-coaster in their front yard on my laptop, I choked on dust and clouds of cat fuzz cleaning and organizing Puck’s room, the basement, and half the kitchen. These were times I wished I had equipment capable of time-lapse photography.

Bær walked through the door around one o’clock and switched on 88.1FM, requesting Marty Robbins’ “Big Iron”, before he and Puck left for “boy time”, and I took a call from “my” editor. I was also a good person by taking the time to hook Crackers into her red leash and let her stroll on damp leaves and packed mud in the cold. I figured the sudden interest in the great outdoors wouldn’t last for long, so I let her get it out of her system.

BANG BANG BANG!

Puck was at the door; shoved a blue and white plastic rectangle in my face. I could tell he was feeling important and grown up.

“You got a library card!”

Yes, very important.

I gave him a squeeze. It’s an important step in the life of a young man. Then he ran off to play with his buddies two houses down while I began on my Wendy’s pretzel roll burger and ice cold root beer. We concluded our family evening with a viewing of “Wreck-It Ralph”