Justice and I are now at the Palm Beach airport. He's my son, and I figure it's time for him to learn who he is. He is a bright young man, he is loved by God, and he, being my son, belongs in coach class. We are Coach People.
We will be crammed in with the masses for days; we will be unable to move, sleep, or eat decent food, and all the blood will flow downward, tripling the size of our feet before reaching our destination. And we will like it. We are Coach People.
We're setting off on a journey that will take us 35 hours, one-way. (I can't tell you where we're going, because it's a radio contest-thing to guess where we're headed.) .
He is, I must say, singularly gifted for this. I'm enormously proud of him. He has a supernatural ability to sit. And sit. For hours. Quietly. Reading. We used to get fed up with it and send him outside, but he'd smuggle a book out and work his way back into the garage, to sit and read. We gave up. He's a thinker, a writer, a logician, and he just bought his very own sunglasses.
Some kids do X-games. Justice loves nothing more than to sit in his room, reading, listening to Yo Yo Ma, and sipping Earl Grey.
And we're bringing our magnetic chess set. We're nerds. We embrace it.
Anyway, I'll keep you posted on the trip. If you want to win a trip of a lifetime, through Compassion International, check out the site I linked to -- it would be cool to have a blog reader win!