October 18, 2014 Comments Off on debate

IMG_0721At his grandparents’ suggestion, C joined the high school debate club earlier this year.  It’s a good match for him.  He likes to argue, and even more than that he likes to be right.  But debate is also a good match in terms of personalities.  Most self-proclaimed high school nerds gravitate toward math, but C’s not all that down with that.  He does fine, but gets bored easily.  French seems to be coming easily to him, though, and more and more he’s becoming something of a humanities nerd.  That’s a good move, I think, because the chick factor is much higher in French and History than in Computer Science.

So he was looking forward to his first debate tournament today.  So much so that he even remembered to point out to me that he needed a suit jacket for it.  He did this on Wednesday, of course, and the debate was today, Saturday.  But we managed to squeeze in a trip to the local department store after school, where we discovered that C is absolutely smack between kid and grownup sizes.  There was exactly one jacket that fit him without having room for two of him.  Good thing he liked it.  Was it the cheap, store brand?  No, it was not.  I’ve instructed him that he can’t grow out of this for a year, but at his rate it’s likely to be a week.

Anyway, he’s down in the big city today, showing off his new suit jacket and his mad rhetorical skills.  Could he have also used a pair of wing tips?  Sure, but no one will see the black slip-ons when he’s behind the podium.  And does the kid own a belt?  OK, he’ll wear one for his second debate tournament.

His sister got in on the sartorial coaching as well.  “You either need a comb or a haircut, Justin Bieber,” she told him.  That did it–he agreed to the purchase of one comb.  And, as evidenced by the photo, he at least took it out of its package.  I was no help, of course.

On the way home from comb shopping and fro-yo last night they got into it.  C was clearly in debate warmup mode.  “Well,” he said, looking for the kill shot in their nightly game of one-upsmanship, “at least I have Dad’s undying, eternal love.”

“That’s in the contract,” O said.  “He HAS to give both of us his undying, eternal love.”

“Yeah,” C said, “but I earn it.  You’ve been coasting for a while.”

The sound of a five-fingered rebuttal heading toward the back seat was deafening.  I don’t think the bruise shows, do you?


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