I hope it's good.
Because if it's not....
There will be tears. Lots of tears. First mine. Then his.
It was picture day. Actually, it was the night before picture day. My wife, whom I love, was talking with my 11 year old son, whom I also love...at least for the time. All my wife asked for was that he look nice on picture day. But perhaps the instructions were too vague.
When his protests started up, I stepped in.
~No son, a ratty t-shirt and gym shorts do not get it done.
~No son, it doesn't matter that they only take a picture from the chest up.
~No son, you only have an illusion of freedom. Your mom already knows what she wants you to wear and no amount of crying or pouting will change that.
His arguments ranged from how he doesn't want to look like a dork (as if clothes really make the man) to how he had soccer practice after school (the reason they made locker rooms). He really didn't want to be the only boy dressed up at school.
~Don't worry son, every other dad is having this same conversation with their son tonight.
Tears were shed, apologies half given and bedtime was reached. I assumed peace would fall and fate would be accepted.
I'm a fool.
The next morning began right where we left off the night before. My stance didn't change. Neither did his mood. But several arguments later, we were on our way to school. About one-third of the way there, he commented that he didn't have the picture packet (with check enclosed) on him.
~Well son, it was haphazardly placed on the table next to your lunch so you wouldn't miss it. It's not your fault.
We track back, retrieve the packet and get all the way to school. As I'm rolling away from the drop-off, with my passenger window open, my son looks in and tells me he forgot his change of clothes for soccer practice.
I'll bet he forgets to smile for the picture as well. I hope this goes better when retakes come around.