Boys are incorrigible. It’s funny, because when I read through this piece at first, I was approaching from a certain place…not sure if it was the story itself that put me there, or my own state of mind (I’d bet my bippy on the latter, though), and I was so worried about 7 year-old you. I had Max all serial-killer’ed out in my mind.

But after I flushed the toilet and headed back to my desk, I started thinking about my 9 year-old.

And how freaking cool he’d think it was if he were allowed to dig a big hole in our yard and cover it with leaves.

I mean, this is the kid who built booby traps, to catch actual boobies, when he was four. And when anyone gets caught in his traps he thinks it’s hilarious.

And I’m almost positive he’s not going to grow up to be a serial killer.

Actually, I think he might just save the world.

After that, Max didn’t seem like such a menace.

He just seemed like a boy.


I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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