Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

The current iteration of the Family Robbo does not generally have dinner together throughout the week the way we did in my misspent yoot, but we do manage to foregather pretty consistently on Sundays.

This evening was a sort of send-off for Eldest, who goes back to school Tuesday.

We talked about Homer.  (Eldest has to read some new feminist translation of the Odyssey and is not enjoying the manipulation.)  We talked about Dante.  (A lively game of “Which Circle of Hell Do You Belong In” was instigated by Youngest.)  We compared 1984 with Lord of the Flies in terms of suitable middle school reading.  (This in the general context of whether it is better to expose yoot prematurely to literature they won’t understand or to risk their never being exposed to it at all.  Shakespeare got mixed up in this discussion, too.)  Somehow or other, we even talked about pernicious and politically-driven enforcement of the Endangered Species Act.  (Mrs. R still endearingly believes that said Act was promulgated and is enforced for purely altruistic reasons, bless her heart.  It’s a curious thing that, although she has had so much more direct contact with the Gels over the years, they all seem to have adopted my own far more skeptical opinion of those who would seek to rule us.  (Yes, I work for Uncle.  But I also believe gubmint to be nothing more than a necessary evil.  Try living in my braim for a while.))

Anyhoo, the point of the matter is that I found myself quite full of pride regarding both the Gels’ scope of knowledge as well as their sensibilities.  (Middle Gel, who is already back at school, would have gone toe-to-toe here.)

Good times.  Good times.

No doubt Ol’ Robbo has made many, many mistakes regarding his progeny.  But the one thing I’m sure of, and the one thing for which I take at least some credit, is that they’re not fools.

 

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