(And L., I have that bioterrorist cold, too.)
So Catherine and I had a talk recently, about getting together for good tapas in the City, and about the children of single parents. She teaches French to kids in an elite private school in Brooklyn.
We can tell if a child is from a single parent situation. By the way they color, write, behave in class...you can tell immediately. They are deeper than most kids, but socially more awkward. Like they are missing something.
Well, that's just great, I say.
Perhaps I am not a great parent. Perhaps I over-comepensate in some areas of my parenting. Perhaps I shouldn't head out to Chelsea Guitars and get A that guitar. Perhaps I shouldn't be buying Joey Ramone pants for him. Perhaps I shouldn't homeschool. Perhaps I shouldn't be a student myself, at my ripe old age of 30 plus four. And working at an IP firm's pending patent lawsuit over a chicken oven.
Perhaps we should head out to Connecticut and just settle down and listen to Bach.
Perhaps I should be feeling guilty? I don't. I just don't.
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