Mr. B. often retreats into the “my generation” stance to justify something odd that he wants to do anyhow. Like wearing basketball shorts everywhere on icy winter days.
Tonight I took him for some last-minute shopping and when we exited the store I saw him drop some coins on the sidewalk. Hey, I said, picking them up. Three quarters and three pennies.
He shrugged. Said he dropped them on purpose and didn’t want them back. Said his generation doesn’t like coins, only bills. The spoiled genius at play.
No wonder he got a B in algebra while getting A’s in everything else.
THE TEXAS SCRIBBLER 