When I was a Boy

If it wasn’t bad enough that I’ve broke my hip in the past year, been forced to use a walker, and completely fail to understand the youth of today, my son has a unique way of reaffirming just how old I am.

Over the past two nights, he and I have been reading a book he brought home from the school library. It’s all about dinosaurs. More specifically, Carnivorous of the Cretaceous Period.

The book was published in 1990, I believe, and on Wednesday night Tevye commented on how old the book was. Well, it’s not THAT old. I mean, perhaps it’s seen better days, but it’s only 23 years old. I suppose he was basing his assessment on the physical appearance of the book, rather than the year it was published. I suppose if I looked that beat-up and run-down, people would probably think I was pretty old too.

Thursday night came along, and we continued to read through the exciting book. Tonight’s chapter is all about the T-Rex. ROAR!!! First line on the page informed us of the correct pronunciation of the name of this magnificent beast.

So far, so good.

Then the book told us that they lived in the United States and Canada. It was at this point that the problem started.

“It lived in Canada?!”


“When you were a baby?”

“What?! No, not when I was a baby!”

“Oh, when you were my age?” (I should point out that he was completely serious with his questions, and unlike other times, was not merely trying to get my goat)

“No, Tevye, not when I was alive!”

“Oh, so you were in your mama’s tummy?”

“Oh for Pete’s sake. No! People didn’t exist at the same time as dinosaurs. I though we had this concept all figured out.”

“Oooohhhhh. Okay.”

Yeah, I had one as a pet. He’d walk with me to school, and he’d carry my books. Also, his name was Gene, and he was fond of cabbage rolls.

Good grief.


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