He's a sly one ...

Last night, around 8:40-something, my son called. A junior in college, he was walking around campus, cell phone to ear. He'd had a bad day. Received a "C" on a Mexican history test. Was unable to get the spring classes he wanted during registration. Still reeling from his little elf's "Dear John" e-mail.
"I need a pep talk, Mom," he said, forlornly. This child, my middle, is predisposed to the blues. Born on a Wednesday, he is, generally, as the saying goes, filled with woe ... . Inherited my depressive tendencies along with my light-colored eyes. He's easily frustrated; he is supremely sensitive.
And so I gathered up some emotional strength, which surprised me, given my stupidly long week at the middle school coal mine, and I offered some sage words. "It's only one test, Ryan. Your grade will not be ruined. And tomorrow head off to the guidance center, speak to your academic advisor. Surely there are still some of your classes available ... ."
He paused.
"Yeah, you're right. Guess I could have studied more for the test."
There will be lots of tests, I told him. You win some; you lose some.
"Hey, Mom?"
"Yes."
"Go to the front porch."
"What?"
"The front porch. Just go there," he said.
With the phone in my hand, I opened the front door.
There was my middle kid, his cell phone to ear, smiling broadly, leaning against the porch column. Pointing at me. Laughing.
Did I mention this one is a practical joker, too?
(And, no, there was no Mexican history test at all. He'd gotten all his necessary classes, too.)
He is a sly one.