Thevictorian's Believe It or Not

I get by with a little help from my friends.

Rather than looking at this blank slate tonight, I went for a spin around the internets. Wouldn't you know it? Blog buddy Sioux, a manuscript-finisher, gave me a bit of inspiration. Oh, she didn't inspire me to finish a manuscript. M-O-O-N. That spells first I'd have to actually START a manuscript before I could finish one. And that's obviously not happening tonight. No, I took inspiration from her topic of honesty.

When I was in junior college, (yes, even Val, the illustrious valedictorian, went to junior college, thanks to a trustee's scholarship that was too good to pass up, along with free room and board and laundry service courtesy of the parental units), I had a psychology teacher who touched on the subject of honesty. Don't mind the run-on sentence. He was a psychology teacher, for cryin' out loud, not an English teacher.

Let's call him Dr. Bobo. He was quite partial to tossing the Bobo doll (figuratively, of course) into daily discussions. However, this one day, he got onto the subject of child development, and how there are ages and stages that human babies go through. And how parents of course think their child is the most brilliant, most beautiful creature ever born.

"Parents come up to me and tell me how advanced little Johnny is. How little Susie is surely the next Einstein. I know they're proud of their kids. I don't want to call anybody a liar. I don't want to embarrass them, or make them feel bad. One lady was so excited. 'Dr. Bobo! My son spoke his first words the other day. He's only six months old. I walked into his room to pick him up after his nap, and he said, May I have a cookie, please?'"

"Now, I knew a six-month-old baby would not speak like that. What could I say? What would YOU say? I've developed a standard response for these instances, in order to spare people's feelings. It's not exactly a lie. I'm not agreeing with them. I simply say, to their outrageous claims, 'Well, imagine that!' They can take it to mean whatever they want. We are both satisfied with the interaction. They've shared their pride and joy, and I've acknowledged them."

Hey, did I ever tell you about the summer 8-year-old Genius drove his 5-year-old brother around the yard in a standard-shift 1996 Toyota Tercel? Yep. Made him ride in the back seat. "You're not old enough to ride in front, Pony. Now put on your seatbelt." The Pony clutched 'Little Bear' to his shoulder, a stuffed bear he'd scammed from the top of my Valentines heart. Genius made many laps through the front yard, up the driveway, across the front field by the sinkhole, down past the barn, and back through the front yard. Hick and I didn't think anything of it. That was normal behavior for Genius.

Here's the car before Hick fixed it up.

Don't go calling 1-800-BAD-MOM. The statute of limitations has run out. Don't be a Dr. Bobo. Nobody is allowed to say, "Well, imagine that!" in the comments.

Don't make me come over there!