So, here’s something you may not know about me – I live in a house with ten high school boys. Ten. Everything goes on in that house; the stuff they take care of, the stuff they don’t; the stuff I want to know about; the stuff I don’t. Let’s just say it’s an appropriate argument for the legality of currently illegal drugs. I have to remind them constantly. On their end, they have to hear me remind them constantly about the stuff they don’t want to be reminded about. Yet, without the reminders the house would likely burn in the night.

An example of this happened the other day and I thought it fit to share.

When the guys cook, they simply have to let me or one of the other adults in the house know. Obvious reasons for my readers (Please make the big people aware of the potential for job loss or lawsuits; thanks).

Does that always happen? Yeah, no.

My bedroom is at the far end of the house (opposite the kitchen); it’s an architectural attempt at escapism. Last Saturday I was able to sleep in a bit, which I was grateful for. But when I did awake, I heard the distinct clanging of pots and pans to let me know that someone (someone not responsible enough to clang things) was using the kitchen in a food-cooking sort of way. I slowly got myself up and dressed and sauntered out to the main part of the house to see what exactly was going on.

The entire kitchen is filled with smoke (from oil heat and burning). Windows and the back door are al open. It had snowed the day before so flakes of it are gently blowing in the house. Two students are standing there looking at me as I approach.

“Morning, Levi,” says one of the kids. In one hand he is holding a blackened pan by the window. It was smoking as though it had just finished searing an entire cow.

I look around at it all and then look back at the kid. I’ll call him Jake here.

“Umm, good morning, Jake. How are things?”

“Good. I just cooked breakfast and it got a little hot.”

“Yeah, I see that. Thank you for cleaning up. Would you mind letting me know next time you cook.”

“Oh yeah, of course. Sorry.”

Right next to him, the other boy who had been silent the whole time speaks up. “Can I cook.” This he asks as the kitchen is smoking behind him.

The humor is sometimes passed over, and if it is there, most times the kids don’t see it. It’s the grand scheme of things that really gets us, though. The house is fun; there is life at home and everyone has a story and something to bring into the fold – something that is good for someone else. Herein lies one aspect of the comedy in the daily reminder.


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