Fans of the television show "Seinfeld" will remember good old George Costanza. He was plump, balding, and unabashadly neurotic. He did have one particular gift though, he could in a moment's notice identify the nearest and best bathroom from any point in New York City. He was the Dewey Decimal system of urinals in Gotham. That's where my son, Brenden, comes in.
Brenden, you see, is a little quirky himself. He won't anything slimy or at all "smooshy." In fact, his Papa once remarked that he was the only kid he'd known that could stick a cracker with a fork. He insists on cleaning any kind of grime off himself immediately, and yet he'll throw his clothes into a pile wherever he has finished with them.
The other thing that Brenden does, no, that he is quite compelled to do, is to investigate every restroom of any facility that he visits. Race tracks, grocery stores, restaurants, gas stations, Starbucks, other peoples' houses, you name it. If it's got a potty, he's going to investigate it. Quite what he hopes to learn is beyond me. Like many parents of kids with diabetes, we feared he was going a lot, and that he might be afflicted with the disease. Fortunately, he just seems to be taken with the intracacies of all things procelain.
Is he secretly checking out each place to test its suitability as a tornado shelter?
Is he planning to write a bathroom book about bathrooms?
Does he like to compare flushing sounds? Each time comparing detailed notes about volume, quantity, and speed in case someone ever asks?
Is he starting a toilet trading card line?
Who knows? And I don't dare ask him. He'll kill me when his mom or Papa tells him about this.
He's a good kid. Straight A's, soccer stud, awesome big brother, and the handsomest little man I have ever seen in my life. In pictures, he's usually compared to Ben Affleck (the JLo version, not the newer, shaggy one) and to Elvis.
But for now, he's my little George Costanza, and I love him.