Soil Conditions

I have an honorary nephew named Bryant who is about to turn twenty. I’ve known his parents for over a quarter of a century now, and they are extraordinarily fine people. Forgive my puns, but they’re both people anyone can look up to. After all, Mom is six feet even and she has to stand on tip-toe to kiss her husband. Bryant has had the benefit of both good DNA and his mother’s extraordinary cooking, which has allowed him to grow up and up and up, so his height is undetermined. I’ve heard he’s a smidgen closer to seven-foot than he is to six. I always kidded his parents that Bryant must have led a charmed life in school. From Kindergarten through twelfth grade, on the first day of school, every new kid in his class would stand in line to make friends with that young giant.

Anyhow, on his most recent birthday, I had a good conversation with him. (My first decent conversation with a teenager! Most teenagers tend to regard old people with the same regard as for furniture.) I asked him if he’d been getting much “How’s the weather up there?” He said, “Yes, as a matter of fact…”

I told him, “Look, Bryant, I’m the cool uncle and a lawyer. As tempting as it is, don’t spit on them and tell them it’s raining. Instead, reply, “Weather’s fine up here. How are the soil conditions, shorty?’”

I hope I’ve done a small bit to improve that fine young man’s life.