My son, the lawyer

My 17 year old son is driving me bananas.

Basically, he’s doing everything I did when I was 17. And 27. And 37. And so on. The difference? He is utilizing loopholes.

Here’s a “for instance,” from last summer.

It was a Friday night, and he was at someone’s house. I had to pick him and his friend up. I said “10:30,” to which he said, “too early.”

We left it there for the moment.

At around 9 p.m., a friend of mine messaged me, asked if I wanted to come over for a beer or two, to which I said, “Yes sir be right there.” I mean come on -- what was I supposed to do? Say no? Stop it.

Anyway, I call up my son and say it can be later than 10:30, as now I’m going out. He said nah, 10:30 was fine, the end.

OK. So I picked him and his friend up. They came inside. They grabbed some pizza. They went to our semi-finished garage to bunk down for the night. Goodnights were shared.

Fast forward five hours later, the local police giving us a buzz. As it turns out, my son and his friend left the house shortly after arrival, hopped on some bikes, went back to the house they were at, and were pedaling home at 3:30 a.m. when the local constable thought it prudent to pull the young men over and question just what the hell they were doing out at 3:30 a.m.

Anyway, my wife goes to pick them up, they get a tongue lashing, and my son says … and this is a doozy … but he says … “You never told me I couldn’t go back out.”

Well. A regular F. Lee Bailey over here.