“Excellent!” I cried.
“Elementary,” said he.
Watson and Holmes in “The Adventure of the Crooked Man”
When it comes to our 13-year-old son, I sometimes joke that I didn’t have much to do with bringing him in this world.
No, I’m not implying my wife had a fling with the mailman. It’s just that he takes after her family so completely, it’s as if she just split him off like an amoeba.
Lately, though, he’s been showing signs that he might actually carry some of my DNA.
A month or two ago, he asked me if it was weird that he wanted to watch the British sci-fi series “Doctor Who.” Not the totally cheesy “Doctor Who” of my youth, of course, but the good Doctor’s latest, “gussied up but true to its cheesy roots,” reincarnation.
“It’d be weird if you didn’t!” I replied.
I’m not quite sure how my…
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