For the Scouts and the Boo Radleys

Last night I was flipping through the new Sync, a free Little Rock paper that focuses on the people of the Little Rock area, as well as the fun things to do in Little Rock. We like Sync because they have a section about the Little Rock Kickball Association (in which we are actively involved and in love with) in every issue. On one page I happened to notice a little Q&A section with four young adults. The question asked was this: “What is the worst book you have been forced to read in school, and why?” Three of those four people gave very reasonable, understandable answers. But the fourth person…oh, the fourth person.  I saw his picture, and before I even read his response, I knew it was going to be ridiculous, embarrassing, disappointing, and, I’m sorry, just stupid.

Now this guy is one we all know. Camouflage hat, cocked over to the side. Messy, unkempt hair. An extremely patchy beard, if you can so call it that. You know the kind of guy I’m talking about. I look at his picture, then I grudgingly slide my eyes over to read his response. Once I read it, I was so appalled and frustrated that I didn’t even know what to do with myself. This, my friends, is what he said was the worst book he ever read, and why:

“To Kill a Mockingbird, because I already know how to kill a mockingbird.”

*crickets chirp*

I know. It’s disgusting. That book is my second all -time favorite book (The Giver is number one), and the movie is one of my all-time favorite movies. The subject matter makes it a must-read for every American, and to know that there are people out there that hated it just makes me sick. I know not everyone enjoys to read, but good grief. To Kill a Mockingbird? That’s really the worst book you’ve ever read? Actually, that might have been the only book this guy had ever read, so I’m actually feeling a little bit better about this whole thing….

Anyway. My mom told me to watch To Kill a Mockingbird when I was about, oh, 10 or 11 years old. I immediately latched on to Scout, because I was secretly convinced we were the same kid (I actually still think we were. Have you seen my Kindergarten yearbook picture? Same haircut). This began my love affair with To Kill a Mockingbird, and it also explains why I feel the need to protect it. It also explains why I’ve held out hope that I would find a husband who would be excited about the idea of naming our daughter Scout. But that hope recently died when Dallas shot down the idea, which means the name Scout has now fallen to the name of my next girl dog.

I guess more than anything, this guy’s response makes me sad. He never fell in love with Scout and Jem and Dill and Atticus and Boo Radley. He never even gave them a chance. He just tossed them aside because he already knew how to kill a mockingbird. What a shame.

Married Life

Married life. It’s quite interesting. It’s nice to have someone that is happy working our way through all the seasons of “How I Met Your Mother” on Friday and Saturday nights. It’s nice having an automatic partner when we play darts in the basement of the Flying Saucer with our college friends. It’s nice having one other person in this entire world completely understand how obsessed I am with Sparky, because he’s just as obsessed as I am (for the record, he’s the cutest, most loving, little rambunctious terrier on the planet. Even though he can’t have any toys because he’ll eat them all).

But it’s not nice to still find towels draped in random places throughout the apartment. Or to find bowls and plates in the sink that are NEVER rinsed out. Ever. Or to open the lid to the washer and find two wet socks and a pair of wet shorts stuck to the sides. Or to turn the water on in the bathtub and have it rain down on your head from the shower when you weren’t expecting it because someone forgot to turn the knob that switches from shower to tub.

But then again, there are the other nice times when I get home from work, and after Dallas has already left, and turn on the TV to find Cartoon Network, which implies that Dallas had been watched Spongebob or Flapjack or something silly. And then there’s the funny little half-finished sock rabbit sitting on the table that he had to make for a class. And then when I walk by the grocery list on the door and see something like “tangy zip of Miracle Whip” scribbled on it.

Overall, the little cute things far outweigh the annoying things. I’d say Dallas is a keeper, and married life is A-OK.