I admittedly grow a bit “restless” every year at about this time from the full season of the beer- and testosterone-induced screaming that is directed at our television set each and every Sunday. Surely the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and all that, but must the apple behave as its clone? Just try to imagine how my mind reeled and my body shuddered and my heart seized a bit when I found this written on the dry-erase board in Laura’s room, in her handwriting:
It might be that I would have preferred to have found a crack pipe.
But then I made another discovery in her room, and I realized that not all of the traits that she may have picked up from me are recessive: