“Book, book,” our little one approached his daddy holding up a current favorite, unaware of the present Monday-morning race against the clock that was preoccupying this daddy.
“I don’t have time. Go ask your mama,” he said. “Don’t have time,” he reflected. “When I came to this country, I used to think that was a joke. A lot of new immigrants don’t understand it.” He went on to explain that they may take offense against this excuse, employed even by their own relatives, and wonder how this country has made people so callous. The longer they stay, the more they get it, however. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?