Wild in the Field

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Once a month, Pete MacDougal braced for a full-scale rebellion. And once every month, he got it.

Only the nature of the weapons and attacks varied. The look on the faces of his fourteen-year-old sons was always the same: A never-give-in-determination in the eyes, an unrelenting stubbornness in the chins, a cocky attitude written on their every feature.

It was bad enough to have two teenagers in the house, worse yet to have twins, but the real insult was that the kids took after him. It just wasn’t fair.

“Look, Dad. You just don’t get it. You’re missing the point of living without women. We’re supposed to be free.”

“Uh-huh,” Pete said, and from his key position in the front hall, slapped a mop and bucket in Simon’s hands. His sidekick-and Sean was the absolute spitting image of his brother except for one errant cowlick-was trying to slowly back away from the vacuum.

“Come on, Dad. Remember about free? We’re supposed to be free to be ourselves. Free to not eat vegetables. Free to not do dishes until we run out. Free to wear our boots in the house. Free to live how we want.”

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