Driving to a pizza dinner at our favorite buffet last night, Anne and I were (again) talking about college. Somehow the conversation turned to my postulate that she would meet some amazing people throuh her youth, especially at college.
"My first boyfriend was a world-famous game designer," I said to prove my point. (Of course, I met Donald X. Vaccarino in high school, but we will forget that detail for a moment.)
"Your first boyfriend IS a world-famous game designer," she corrected me. Now here is MY daughter. She changes the course of conversation to pick on my grammar, yet she hates English so much that she may not graduate on time because she is failing her class for not turning in her assignments. (If she could just get assigned to correct her mother at every opportunity, she would be getting an A!)
"No," I argued. Even though I knew she was technically correct, the way I had said the sentence sounded better. "He is no longer my boyfriend. He WAS my boyfriend."
"Yes, but he was not a world-famous game designer when you knew him," Anne protested, "and he will always be your first boyfriend, whether or not you are presently dating."
She was right, of course, and I knew I could not win the argument based upon my opinion of what sounded better. I paused for a few minutes, turning my attention to traffic as I thought how to address the argument. Anne buried her nose in paperwork she needed to read for her college admissions.
"I once dated a Brazilian soccer player," I returned to the original conversation.
"Really?" Anne replied. It was more a statement of surprise than a question.
I could not help but laugh, "I was young and beautiful once, too, you know."
"Oh, it's not that," Anne was quick to defend herself. "I'm just surprised that you had opportunity to meet a soccer player. You are kind of a nerd."
I shrugged. This was exactly my point. In college she will come into contact with a lot of different people with all sorts of amazing in them. "He was a commuter at my college." (Note: I was an officer in the college's commuter organization.)
Point made.
"My first boyfriend was a world-famous game designer," I said to prove my point. (Of course, I met Donald X. Vaccarino in high school, but we will forget that detail for a moment.)
"Your first boyfriend IS a world-famous game designer," she corrected me. Now here is MY daughter. She changes the course of conversation to pick on my grammar, yet she hates English so much that she may not graduate on time because she is failing her class for not turning in her assignments. (If she could just get assigned to correct her mother at every opportunity, she would be getting an A!)
"No," I argued. Even though I knew she was technically correct, the way I had said the sentence sounded better. "He is no longer my boyfriend. He WAS my boyfriend."
"Yes, but he was not a world-famous game designer when you knew him," Anne protested, "and he will always be your first boyfriend, whether or not you are presently dating."
She was right, of course, and I knew I could not win the argument based upon my opinion of what sounded better. I paused for a few minutes, turning my attention to traffic as I thought how to address the argument. Anne buried her nose in paperwork she needed to read for her college admissions.
"I once dated a Brazilian soccer player," I returned to the original conversation.
"Really?" Anne replied. It was more a statement of surprise than a question.
I could not help but laugh, "I was young and beautiful once, too, you know."
"Oh, it's not that," Anne was quick to defend herself. "I'm just surprised that you had opportunity to meet a soccer player. You are kind of a nerd."
I shrugged. This was exactly my point. In college she will come into contact with a lot of different people with all sorts of amazing in them. "He was a commuter at my college." (Note: I was an officer in the college's commuter organization.)
Point made.
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