My son’s favorite food is shrimp tempura. But he only likes the shrimp tempura sushi rolls from one particular restaurant. He eats shrimp only at this restaurant, and he eats nothing but shrimp at this restaurant. Consequently, when he was about three, he renamed this restaurant Shrimp, as in “Let’s go to Shrimp for dinner tonight.”
I, being incorrigibly out of touch with what’s current and trendy in the world, don’t care for sushi. Fortunately, Shrimp makes a pretty good bowl of chicken teriyaki, allowing me to associate with the in crowd at dinner time. My wallet helps in this regard as well.
My son asks to go to Shrimp constantly. I can only eat so much teriyaki. Besides that, he can pack away three shrimp tempura rolls by himself. Then, my wife has to have her sushi, and I my hanger’s-on dish. It gets kind of pricey. We can’t afford to eat there every week.
Meanwhile, at my son’s school curriculum night, his teacher showed us some little squares of yellow paper, referred to in Kindergarten parlance as Golden Tickets. Children earn a Golden Ticket by being exceptionally well-behaved. For those of us who looked worried about our child’s ability to ever meet this sky-high threshold, she guaranteed that every child would be sure to earn one during the year. Not only did this reassure me, it also put me under the impression that Golden Tickets would be scarce.
After two weeks of school, what does the boy bring home but a Golden Ticket. Okay, I thought, the teacher is unloading Golden Tickets early to get the kids excited about good behavior and spread some confidence. We’ll make a big deal out of this one, because we don’t know how many we’ll see once things in the classroom get real.
As expected, the boy asked to go to Shrimp that night. Who am I to refuse the bearer of a Golden Ticket? At the restaurant he shoveled sushi away like the deserving soul he was. When the bill came, I was first struck by poverty, and then by genius. “If you want to come back here again,” I told him, “you’ll have to earn another Golden Ticket.”
I felt good about the months of dinner savings I had just won for myself. This child was the perfect blend of his mother’s talkative nature and his father’s rebelliousness to invite a long drought of Golden Tickets. His most strenuous efforts to win favor would be doomed by biology.
Four whole days later, my wife called me at work with a message from the boy. “He wants you to guess what he brought home from school,” she said.
There was a substantial part of me that hoped for head lice. But I knew the awful, golden truth.
It’s going to be a long, expensive year. My genius lies shattered on the ground – under the table with the rice crumbs from my son’s three plates of shrimp tempura.
You rolled the dice and it blew up in your face! Sounds like you need to email the teacher and beg her to stop! Lol.
I’m giving the boy an early lesson on inflation. The price of shrimp is now 3 Golden Tickets. Might go to 5 soon. I thought the Federal Reserve was on top of this inflation stuff, but I guess not.
And why do I have to enter a bunch of information to comment now? And why does my avi thing look like that? What is going on?
Are you logged into WP? Sometimes I get logged off in between pages. I haven’t changed anything here.
So funny! I made this mistake as a young parent too. Glad to know I’m not the only one. LOL
Who knew the kid had so much good behavior in him?
This made me smile. And crave shrimp. Or a teriyaki bowl. Or both. This is why I’m fat.
I’ll take responsibility for the smile.
Tell him, when he gets TEN golden tickets, you will buy him a lobster!
He’s made too many friends at the Meijer lobster tank to want to eat them. And our aquarium is already standing room only.
Laughed out loud at the head lice line. Thanks for that!
That’s the first time I’ve been thanked for head lice.
He’s learning how to be a good boy one shrimp at a time.
I wish it were just one shrimp at a time.