The other day I was running some errands with my 14-year old son, which actually means I was out running errands for my son and he graced me with his presence. After the third sporting goods store, we located the appropriate snowboard helmet (I knew ‘black’ was a versatile colour but, really?), and then we made one last stop for some XBox game that he was just absolutely the last person on earth to own. In examining his purchase, (my money) that would now put him on level playing field with his peers (or some playing field anyway), he removed the plastic wrap and part of the plastic covering somehow got stuck to my hand, while I was driving.
Call me shallow, but I found this kind of offensive.
Negative charge, my ass!
I am brimming with optimism and cheer.
I absolutely exude positivism.
Over the next few minutes, he educated me on this scientific principle, which I am aware is based in fact. Not that I’m Einstein or anything, but it was also too much for me to be reminded of this scientific principle by a 14-year old. My 14-year old. The one I gave birth too. Fourteen years ago.
I had taken this comment very off-handed, scientific observation very personally and was ordering him to alter his claim. I’m the boss around here, after all. “Come on, Mom, they’re just ions; it doesn’t mean anything. You’re making a big deal about of a few atoms that have nothing against you.”
Nevertheless, I bugged him about it until he finally acquiesced and blurted out in sheer frustration, “Okay! Okay! You’re positively charged and this teeny, tiny little piece of plastic XBox wrapping is negatively charged. Are you happy?!”
Now, I am happy.
Are you positively charged or negatively charged today?