Insane Earthlings

I knew where Dad kept the pistol. I was seven years old. His old reporter’s desk in the basement had some secrets. You know those old desks where the typewriter was hidden upside-down under a flip-up top. Simply fold back the top and as it disappeared down the back of the desk, a typewriter emerged from the front. It was like magic. The desk also had a secret writing tablet made of sturdy wood that could be pulled out to have your notes ready to type up the latest news story. Dad used to pull out that tablet so I could sit on it and watch him type. The desk had another secret. If you pulled one of the drawers way out, there was a hidden compartment at the very back. I knew what was kept in that compartment. It was a Smith and Wesson .22 caliber pistol. A revolver. It wasn’t ever loaded that I know of, but I would often take my grade school friends down to the basement and show it to them. We were not gun people. My father never hunted or showed any interest in shootin...

“How did the two of you meet?” asked the social worker. She was conducting a home study that would determine if we were fit to adopt a child from China. My wife and I exchanged nervous glances. We had not done a mock interview like a politician prepares for a debate. We had not thought to anticipate what types of questions might be asked. We could have answered this question two different ways. However, as we looked at each other, our anxious faces melted into a shared smile. It was clear that we each knew what the other was thinking. Simultaneously, we answered, “We met at a bar.” It was one of those magic moments when two people in love know each other so well that a quick glance communicates volumes.   The social worker judgmentally clucked her teeth and clicked her pen a couple of times. Then she said flatly, “I’ll say you met at a social club.” Since our mutual friend, James, had been at the bar with me and had made the introduction, we could have just said that we m...