I remember years ago that any time that I didn’t have to be at school was the best time of the year. I could set my own agenda and lounge about or play as I desired, free from the stress that a structured environment would provide. Of course, it always seemed that my mom got a little out of sorts during these vacations, which I never understood until a couple of years ago. Don’t get me wrong: I love my son, and we have had a lot of fun together over the years, but I’ve come to appreciate the time we spend apart, and I’m not sure if we’ll still be on speaking terms when the week is through. We are able to stand one another in small doses separated by his mandated attendance in a place of learning. Any more than that, and we find reasons to start arguing, and within moments, one of us is crying. And there is nothing more saddening than a fat, bald man brought to tears by a little boy.

As fortune would have it, we were granted a brief reprieve from having to find some sort of entertainment. Sunday night, the Minkey came down with a cough, a fever, and a case of good behavior; in other words, he got sick, and hard. Poor little guy looked absolutely pathetic, and just completely drained of the overpowering spirit which is normally a trial to man and beast alike. I picked him up off the couch and carried him into bed, tucking him in beneath the covers and pouring a dose of cough medicine down his gullet. It was only five o’clock in the evening, but when I suggested that he might want to try and get some sleep, he didn’t scream, he didn’t argue, he just rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. Of course, it was evening on a Sunday, so a quick run to the clinic was out of the question (not that a cough and slight fever is reason to go running right away), and we would have to make it through the night.

David may have closed his eyes for a bit, but he didn’t actually sleep, and shortly after I’d settled in beside him, he said that he’d like to watch something on the television. I scrolled through several choices on my Netlfix account until he found something that he was interested in watching. So we wound up checking out the Green Lantern animated series which I had noticed before, but never really given a second thought. I have to say, I’m kind of glad that my son is a DC fan, because no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to give a crap about the Marvel Universe. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve enjoyed the movies that they’ve put out, but I never got into the comics (even during the ubiquity of X-Men in the 90’s), and the animated series that I’ve seen haven’t really won me over. Even the LEGO Marvel video game, while interesting, to be sure, didn’t capture me in a nerdy state of rapture in the way that the LEGO Batman games are able.

My grandson, on the other hand, is Marvel fanboy to the core. He’s always glued to the screen while Avengers Assemble and Superhero Squad are cycling through on a seemingly endless loop of half-rate superheroism. This is a kid who will run around the apartment with a hanger held out like a bow, shouting “Hot Guy”. He will also grab one of his many toy shields and randomly bang into things, grunting “‘Merica!” The best he can do for my guys is lower his voice, get a constipated look on his face, and say “I’m Bat.” I’ve tried several times to correct him, and coax him into adding “man” but he doesn’t seem to find it all that important, and I don’t get much help from his parents, as my daughter couldn’t give less than a crap about spandex-laden tomfoolery, and my son-in-law is Captain Marvel through and through (and yes, I know what I just did there, my nerd brethren).

But despite the blood feud about imaginary role models between the older generations, my son and his nephew don’t seem have it in for one another. Actually, they are almost inseparable, and will roughhouse for hours, with only a few breaks in between to break down in booger-streaming tears and run to their respective corners. I think that my son’s illness has been harder on my grandson than it has been on my son. We’ve had to keep them separated, with my son under quarantine to protect our toddler grandson and pregnant daughter.

Yesterday, it seemed, David started to make a small recovery, as he had just the right amount of gumption to demand to be allowed to play on the Xbox, and it was everything that his mother and I could do get him to stay on the bed, and try and get some rest. There’s always that moment of shameful joy that a parent experiences when their child is sick. On the one hand, every strand of DNA is crying out for you to fix your child so that his genes may be passed along at some point down the line. On the other, for the first time in what feels like forever, your bouncing baby boy is finally refraining from the bouncing, and the house is at least twenty decibels quieter.

So we’ll get through today, as my son is on the mend, and try to think of something that we can do tomorrow. I guess that means that I’ll have to think of something fun to do tomorrow. Of course, it could rain, and we’d have no other alternative but to bundle up in front of the T.V. and play the Xbox until the batteries run out (which, judging by what the controller is flashing on the screen, could be sooner than tomorrow).

-Tex