#338

I noticed if I set things on the stairs that belong to the kids – like shoes, books, shit that needs to be put away – it will sit there until the end of the world.

M 'n' m applied for passports. I didn't get one until I was 20; I'm happy they're way ahead. I heard only 36% of Americans have valid passports. I hope that number climbs. I hope it's always easier, cheaper, safer for the next generation to go abroad. I want M 'n' m to see 50 countries. When I was Megan's age, my parents toured Asia (with my Dad's employer). I was impressed. But it was another decade before I left America myself, excluding Niagara Falls, which makes me think of The Breakfast Club and Brian's lie to Bender, "She lives in Canada. I met her at Niagara Falls; you wouldn't know her." ... "Well, in addition to the number of girls in the Niagara Falls area..."

Let's examine, for a minute, the hug. According to family lore, my great-grandma Dora was a bigtime hugger; you couldn't enter or exit her house without one, without a big embrace. They don't make 'em like Grandma Dora anymore; I remember a tenderness, but there was a toughness too; she lost a young son to drowning for one thing; I can't imagine how that affects a mother. And now I suddenly understand why she hugged so much. Wow, writing gives me perspective. Anyway, predictably, Dora's daughter and granddaughter became leading huggers themselves, distinguished and exceptional, which brings us to the grandson, me. I hug M 'n' m a lot. And I'm hardly alone; people in sports, for example, get busy hugging and back-slapping each other all the time. Awesome. Hug it up! Michael's not the most enthusiastic hugger, but he accepts one when I'm proud of him, or happy Iowa State won, or excited there's a new GOT episode. Megan is different. If I outstretch my arms in invitation, she expresses annoyance. I feign hurt. She sighs. Too bad, gimme a hug! I love you! Of course, when she wants money, or help, or permission to do something, well then, different story, she's all about it....