yarrr, ye scurvy boy-king, halt ye whinin'

"So," said my mother, obviously secretly enjoying my torment, "Leon tells me you're going to the Missouri Scholars Academy."

"Yes. Leon thinks I'm crazy, all those weeks of work in the summer."

"That takes me back," said my dad.

"Were you in the program?" asked Melody, taking the bait.

"No, I was in the military. The air force. I signed up in June and was in basic training all summer."

I buried my face in my hands. As an ex-enlisted man who never came within a thousand miles of a battle, Dad managed to bring up his military record on every occasion.

"Were you a pilot?" asked Melody, opening us up to three hours of stories.

"I was more in what you'd call intelligence."

"He was a file clerk," I groaned.

"That can be stressful work," countered Dad.

"It's true. He still wakes up some nights screaming 'Paper jam!' "

from Playing with Matches by Brian Katcher