I am pedaling in France this week (although the weather looks a bit grim today), and as I usually do while traveling, I revisit a Sundays Are For Sebastian. This comes from over eleven years ago when Seba was five.
Several months ago, I started a new weekly theme: Sundays Are For Sebastian. Sebastian is my five-year-old and he says some of the funniest things–we have no idea where he gets his material since his mother and I are rather boring, serious people.
When I dropped Sebastian off at school the other day, he was a mess—he did not want me to leave. It was the start of a new school year and he was apprehensive (to say the least): clinging to my leg, avoiding any contact with friends or teachers, and plenty of tears.
I finally calmed him down.
Me: “Promise you will be a good boy?”
“Yes”, he sobbed.
“Promise to listen to your teacher?”
“I promise” he replied with more sobbing.
“Promise not to be homesick?”
“Yes” he stammered through the crying.
As I reached the door he shouted out: “Daddy?” [Tears welling up]
He came running up to me.
“What does ‘homesick’ mean?”
Sebastian insisted on eating a Extreme Sour Warhead…
the drunken cyclist 