# 2 son and I were talking about soda drinking and bone strength, and he pointed out that he had never broken a bone. “Not even when…” he began, with the air of one who has an argument-clinching point to make, and then his voice trailed off. He quickly changed the subject.
I understand this, because I too have sentences like that. You start them and only after you have spoken do you realize that it’s going to end up with “…the time I camped out on the Marine base” and decide not to finish the sentence after all.
#2 son is a bit of a daredevil. Sometimes, long after the event, he will mention the time he jumped over the fence and was caught by his shirt and nearly strangled, for example, but usually he keeps it quiet. In fact, when asked about a new 6-inch gash on his arm, he can not only contrive to behave as though the wound is a complete surprise, but as though the body part itself is unknown to him. He gazes at it with comical befuddlement, apparently having no idea how the arm or the cut got there. He certainly didn’t notice when it happened. And he hasn’t been doing anything dangerous. Not him. Nosirree.
It is just as well that I not know these things.
Some people are more overt about their eccentricities. Last night one of the basses came to choir practice with headphones and a little radio so he could listen to the game. He had the radio balanced on his head, under his hat, so you might at first think he was trying to be discreet.
But then, throughout the practice, he kept shouting out bulletins.
“They’ve just fouled our boy!” he’d call as we built a tricky chord in the Beethoven. “It’s 32 and 38!” he’d shout just as the director told us to go to rehearsal 35, thereby confusing our Oldest Member hopelessly and ensuring that his basset-hound notes would be further off than usual.
Janalisa and I added an unusual harmony ourselves at one point, since we were singing on page 12 and the rest of the choir was on page 8 — and it was all the fault of the guy with the radio.