05-25-02 - 5:35 p.m.
yesterday at the lake: furtive rootbeer float kisses, because patrick is paranoid in public, even at a secret location. we talked about springsteen as a senator. we talked about kids; mine, his. he is not maternal; he is the first to admit that the sight of his firstborn filled him with indifference. she was, he blatantly admits, just another mouth to feed. then came five more. after that, grandchildren; they now amount to ten. he is far more tolerant and loving of my berries, although the birthday tongue piercing irritated him. i reassured him that fatherhood is not necessarily instinctive, and tongue piercing is a generational thing, beyond his generation. then he proudly demonstrated his new voice activated phone; i am 'black'.
black, he says, and the phone magically dials me.
i taught him about italian dipping oil. a depression baby from webster groves, he is gastronomically ignorant. his response after dipping the crusty bread in the fragrant oil?
nice salad dressing.