I was recently asked if the kids at my school or my own son read this blog. The answer is no and yes. The kids at my school have never been made fully aware of Mister Caven's cyber-proclivities, with the possible exception of the fact that they know I don't fully embrace on-line gaming. That doesn't keep me from being discrete. I don't use kids' real names when I write about the goings-on at my school. I don't work blue, which is to say that even though I may imply certain off color ideas or notions, you won't find cursing here. That's also the reason I feel free to turn my son loose on this page from time to time, as the situation or topic warrants. I don't have secrets from my son, and at times this works better for me than for him.
I think sometimes that my son would prefer that I had some secrets. "Did you have to tell me that, Dad?" Sure. You were going to read about it sooner or later anyway. Why not get the truth out there, warts and all from the beginning? He's got a pretty good sense of the dumb things his father walked away from, those that left a mark. The happy news here is that most of the ridiculous stuff happened long enough ago that I have assembled an air of maturity to lay on top of all those juvenile hi jinks and morose teen behavior. If you're looking for tips on how to get along through the first fifty years or so without making a complete fool of yourself, this might not be the place, but I'm way out in front of the guy who recently asked his eight year old son to drive his pickup truck to Dallas because he was drunk and wanted to sleep it off. The four year old was in the back seat. Maybe when dad gets out of jail, he'll start his own blog.