Being a teenager and getting a tattoo seem to go hand and hand these days. I wasn’t surprised when one of my daughter’s friends showed me a delicate little Japanese symbol on her hip. "Please don’t tell my parents," she begged.
"I won’t," I promised. "You're 18 now, so I guess it's your choice. By the way, what does that stand for?"
"Honesty," she said.
A first-grader came to the ophthalmology office where I work to have his vision checked. He sat down and I turned off the lights.
Then I switched on a projector that flashed the letters F, Z and B on a screen. I asked the boy what he saw.
Without hesitation he replied, "Consonants."
My older son loves school, but his younger brother absolutely hates it. One weekend he cried and fretted and tried every excuse not to go back on Monday. Sunday morning on the way home from church, the crying and whining built to a crescendo.
At the end of my rope, I finally stopped the car and explained, "Honey, it’s a law. If you don’t go to school, they’ll put Mommy in jail."
He looked at me, thought a moment, then asked, "How long would you have to stay?"