When my son Austin was seven, he asked me one day “Could I have a manicure, please?”
“Do you know what a manicure is?” I asked, remaining calm.
“Yeah. I mean yes.”
“So what is it?”
“It’s when you trim and clean up your fingernails and stuff to make ’em look fancy.”
“That’s right. But why do you, personally, want them to look fancy?”
“I just feel like it. So could I have one, please, Mom?”
“Well, now, let’s say you did have one. Do you like playing with your friends?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then you couldn’t play with them anymore, because you might get your fingernails dirty and ruin the manicure you just had.”
“I won’t get them dirty, Mom. I promise.”
“Are you sure about that, Austin? Think hard.”
He did just that, for a few moments.
“So, do you still want a manicure?” I asked.
“I guess not,” he replied.
“You made the right choice. Now you can continue to have fun with your friends.”
“Uh-huh.”
He never asked for a manicure again. Of course, he still became a homosexual years later, but at least his house now has wonderful landscaping. I don’t know if that has anything to do with homosexuality, but still, he does all the landscaping himself. Even my priest likes Austin’s angular hedges.
Copyright © 2016 by David V. Matthews
DAVID V. MATTHEWS 