staple in my finger.

When I was a kid, I once stapled my thumb.

I was playing with this little, school-desk sized stapler I had which no doubt I would be prohibited from carrying to school these days (insert wild stapler rampage joke here).

I was playing with the stapler, and at one point it "clicked."

"That's funny," think I. "Where'd the staple go?"

About five minutes later, I have moved on to another activity, going about my 9 or 10 year old business and I look down and there's the staple, buried deep into my thumb. Now, I hadn't felt it, it hadn't hurt a bit up to that point, but when I saw it, man... I started screaming "Get it out! Get it out!!!"

I guess sometimes things don't even hurt until you notice them.

Stupid staple.


So, last night, we went to see Don Miller of Blue Like Jazz fame and Philip Yancy at Portland's first-ever "Festival of Books", Wordstock.

It was a lot of fun, listening to them talk, read, and just generally be famous people whose stuff we had read and now got to see right up close in faux personal space.

Don Miller, the opening act, read a great, funny piece from a book that will be coming out next year about growing up without a dad...

In the context of discussing his dadlessness (did I just coin a word?), he talked about his mom getting a neighbor to take him to a father and son outing.

It made me remember all the father and son camps and outings my uncle used to take me to before I was 12 and he had his own son (who was born with some problems). I used to be (and still am) very thankful that he would do this, but, man...

Stupid dad.