Brush with Evil

Speaking of baseball, my son asked me if the Yankees are a good team.

"Yes," I told him, "They are one of the all-time great baseball teams."

"Good," he said, "I like the Yankees. They're great."

I sat down and pulled him into my lap. I spoke gently, "As you grow older there are many things we will not agree about. But despite this, I'll still love you. I will love you if you decide you don't like your faith or prefer wine over beer. I will love you if you become a Trotskyite..."

"Like Pop?" my son interrupted.

"Right, like Pop. I will even love you if you decide to use PCs instead of Macs."

"What if I prefer the new Star Wars to the old ones?" he asked.

"Even then, as much as it would pain me," I told him, my voice still gentle.

"But if you become a Yankees fan," I continued, my voice darkening like a sudden summer thunderstorm:

"I will have no son!"

"Dad, I'm just kidding," he laughed, rolling his eyes at me. "I like the Orioles. Can we go to a game?"

"What spend forty bucks to see them, they stink."