I am writing this post in Vancouver, WA (aka “the other Vancouver”), where my youngest son is attending the Monsters of Hip Hop dance convention. The schedule over the weekend is akin to military basic training, with nearly every minute of each day jam-packed with dance instruction, punctuated by short breaks, including one for lunch. Throw a couple of hundred teens into a hotel ballroom, pump up the music and aerate the chamber with the aroma from a mass agglomeration of adolescent sweat, and you have the general idea. The concept must have been devised as a mechanism to tamp down their libidos, as the kids are reduced to disheveled messes, and so exhausted they can barely move (or so I pray, given all the hotel rooms a short elevator ride away). Idle hands are the devil’s plaything and all that.
The job of the parental unit while their son or daughter is expending calories to the music of Nicki Minaj and her ilk and simultaneously kneecapping the household budget is to keep the calories and lubrication flowing. Napoleon said an army marches on its stomach, and so does an army of youthful athletes. Last night’s intake involved a 12-inch Subway sandwich and a Jamba Juice. I purchased breakfast this morning at Starbucks, because the free meal at our hotel’s morning buffet was deemed “gross” by my discriminating child. Oh to be young and filled with preferences that others will satisfy at your merest whim, regardless of effort or expense!
After a vigorous shvitz of my own on the treadmill at the hotel gym (during my workouts I perspire so much I create my own ecosystem), it was off to Panera Bread for lunch. The ultimate indignity: he is going out with friends for dinner, and simply needed a cash infusion to fund the evening’s festivities. His mother and I can go to the Olive Garden for all he cares.
Tomorrow will most likely be a repeat of today, with strategizing over where to procure the required fuel. Jesus displayed wisdom when he advised praying merely for one’s daily bread. Unfortunately, we belong to a different Abrahamic faith tradition, and a generic request to Heaven for bread will need some degree of specificity. Does that mean ciabatta, or a bagel, or a bialy, or a croissant, or honey whole wheat, or a Kaiser roll, or wrap, or an English muffin, or sour dough, or what exactly?
In any event, I know exactly what I will be asking His Highness tomorrow morning: May I take your order?