A Royal Birthday

The prince is fourteen today!  As befits a royal he will breakfast upon bagels, bacon, and blueberries, and given the mild temperatures will ride his bike through the streets to receive the public’s blessings.

The prince is evolving into a smart and funny person.  As recently as a year ago he might have suffered hurt from the sarcasm employed by the prince consort and queen; we knew sometimes we had taken the quest for humor a bit too far.   But at fourteen the comedic exoskeleton is sufficiently hardened; he knows the joke as we toss it out.  He now has his own funny take on things and is apt ably to skewer his parents in jest, saving the funniest barbs for the clown.  At the same time, he is kind, intuitive, and has so far adopted his parents’ liberal values for his own.  The royal we are aware this could change.  But I’ve warned him that becoming a conservative could cost him his inheritance (Dad’s box of “vintage toys,” Grandma’s collection of Native American Artifacts, a ticket stub from a Chicago concert we went to in 1986, and my mother’s Corelleware casserole dish, all of which, after the funeral, could fit nicely in a Prius but will never find a home in a Mercedes).

(Speaking of funerals: I was especially careful driving yesterday since my father died the day before my 21st birthday and my mother died just before Christmas.  These are the family traditions one hopes most to avoid perpetuating.)

Happy Birthday to my dear prince!