My kids hate Alanis Morissette. Which sucks, because I love Alanis Morissette. In fact, the only song that holds their interest, even remotely, is “Ironic.” Mainly because I’ve used it to discuss irony, and how nothing—absolutely nothing—in the tune is actually ironic.
I know this isn’t new turf here, but a traffic jam when you’re already late, a plane crashing on your first flight, 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife—all bad luck. No irony.
Then, today, something happened. I was on Facebook, chatting with a friend who dates back to my Tennessean days. We were DMing, and from afar she complimented me on my parenting. It was a genuinely nice sentiment, and as I was reading it my cell phone rang.
“Dad, where are you?”
It was my son, at elementary school.
I’d forgotten to pick him up.
