The sun is beautiful, even though it is deadly hot.
That line made me giggle as I sat down to write today. I keep repeating it to myself. I'm hysterical, or getting nearer to it each moment.
To speak of hysteria:
We took Rhys to Chuck E. Cheese yesterday, which was really more of a Carlos E. Queso. I fit right in as the obligatory Padre Gringo.
Daddy Gringo. Yet another new name for my memoirs.
Rhys loved it, of course. We "played" games, which consisted of me putting tokens in and Rhys watching myself or Rachel try to entertain him with the device.
I, of course, dominated the game room. Nobody else even came close. I rekindled my sense of competition. The boy would get bored and move on to another game that he didn't quite understand. We would follow, forcing tokens into the machines, to appease them.
All of them were covered in pizza grease and snot.
He loved the basketball game most of all. He has a plastic hoop of his own in the backyard. "Basketball" is one of his favorite words.
Three syllables, for those of you who weren't counting.
To speak of pride.
.
