Enough to Miss Christmas

"You can't ride a bicycle?" I asked my husband.

"Lots of people can't," he replied sheepishly.

"In darkest Africa, maybe. Not in the old U S of A. and definitely not in Summerside!"

I pressed the issue. Four new bikes were purchased and after a few hours of wobbles and one scraped knee; Paul's, we were proficient enough to tour the paths and side streets of our quaint little seaside town.

I use a bicycle as my means of transportation to Peck O' Fun, my wedding-present toy store where my busy schedule so far only permits short sessions of indoctrination. Mrs. Emma Peck, widow of the original owner, is seventy-six. She is perfectly willing to oblige my temporary-at-least limited work schedule. Emma is as blunt as a sailor and a breath of fresh air.

"If I had that handsome man of yours, I'd be damned if I'd waste time selling Yo-yos to yahoos!" She has a sense of humor that keeps me on my toes, not knowing when, or if she is ever serious.

When Timmy saw a child's video playing in the store, he asked about watching them at home. Soon we were allotting television time with quality restrictions willingly agreed upon. They contained much less censorship than the children's Newton schedule. Timmy became bored with children's shows quickly but became fascinated with sports and now watches anything with a ball involved. Paul promised the reward of taking him to a live Red Sox game before summer's end.

Karen asked for a computer and although Paul expressed reservations, I pointed out it was a good test of responsibility. I utilized the love chair for an in-depth discussion of the trash and filth that floated around the World Wide Web. Both Anne and Julie were allowed to use computers in their homes, apparently with heavy restrictions.

"Remember when I asked you about men doing improper things when we were sorting out items in your Newton house?" I asked.

"Sure. I said no one has ever done anything like that."

"Well, the internet has become their new playground. We don't want you to go on any chat rooms and open discussion boards with anyone you don't know."

"Okay. Will you block them out?"

"No. I'll accept your promise not to do so and take your word for it."

She nodded in agreement. "Just like Grandma would have done; right?"

"Yes." That statement came up with annoying frequency.

"Will you block out the dirty stuff; the pornography you were talking about?"

"No. But I want a promise from you not to look at any of that either."

"Have you?"

"Some. But I found it demeaning, especially to women and really gross."