What's Wrong With You?

Jeremy has been sick. Dr. Arnold forewarned us to expect 10 colds over the next 12 months. That doesn’t make it any easier for us to bear his incessant crying. After hours of watching our unsuccessful attempts to make Jeremy comfortable, Mr J Patience faced him directly and obtrusively demanded WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? Bill and I stared at each other in amazement. Where did he learn that phrase with its particular Ray Romano intonation? Later that night we gathered for family time around the TVs. On with the volume wars! I couldn’t hear Rock of Love Bus with Bret Michaels on the big screen and J couldn’t hear Ice Age on the portable. I’d up my volume, he’d up his. Then over the blondourage’s trashy yelling, I distinctly heard that oversized mammoth, irritated with the incessant crying of prehistoric baby, demand WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?

We laughed and laughed. And I thought it was amusing enough to share at work the next day. My anecdote sparked a thought in our President, and he proceeded to describe a documentary he just watched on a child prodigy in India. "He’s four years old and plays the piano marvelously. They say he’s our modern day Mozart. Experts attribute his brilliant aptness to the fact that he has been constantly exposed to classical music since he was in the womb." Unbelievable! You mean to tell me that his obsessing mother created a genius by exposing him to classical music? "Absolutely," he smiled, "And look what you’re creating by exposing your child to Ice Age."