Mr. Boone chimed in, “It’s also a badly needed four-lane highway that will reduce the traffic jams on Battle Street.”
Mrs. Boone replied, “It’s also a boondoggle. Five years ago, a conservative taxpayers group, someone from your side of the street, Woods, labeled it the third-biggest waste of taxpayer money in the entire country.”
Mr. Boone replied, “And a Chamber of Commerce study found that the Battle Street congestion is so bad it is choking off growth and development.”
Mrs. Boone said, “Two hundred million dollars for five minutes. Unbelievable.”
Mr. Boone said, “You can’t stand in the way of progress.”
There was a heavy pause, and Theo managed to say, “Sorry I asked.”
They listened to the governor for a moment and ate in silence. Then a local state senator took the podium and began bragging about all the wonderful ways the new bypass would make life better in the city and county. He was not very impressive—short, red-faced, chubby, sort of stuffed into a bad suit—and after he thundered on for a few minutes, Mrs. Boone said, “You voted for that clown.”
Mr. Boone looked guilty and could not deny the accusation.
“Did you, Dad?” Theo asked, almost in disbelief, as if he wanted to say, “How could anyone vote for a guy like this?”
“I did,” his father finally admitted.
At the age of thirteen, Theo Boone had only a passing interest in politics. Much of what he saw on television told him to stay away from it altogether. He knew his mother tended to be more liberal and his father more conservative, but he had heard them insist more than once they were simply “moderates,” or somewhere in the middle. After listening to some of their discussions, he had realized there was nothing simple about being a moderate. Thankfully, his parents had the good sense not to argue politics in front of Theo. They rarely argued about anything, at least not in his presence.
Innocently, Theo asked, “Where does the two hundred million dollars come from?”
His father replied, “Mainly from the state, but there is some city and county money involved, too.”
Theo asked, “But if the city is cutting budgets right and left, and canceling classes and laying off policemen and janitors, how can the city spend money on this bypass?”
His mother laughed and said, “Bingo.”
“The vast majority is state money,” Mr. Boone said.
“But I thought the state was cutting budgets, too.”
“Bingo,” his mother said again, with another laugh.
“Why do you keep saying ‘bingo,’ Mom?” Theo asked.
“Because, Theo, you’re asking all the right questions, and there are no good answers. The bypass would be a waste of money in good times or bad, doesn’t matter, but to build it now when the city, county, and state are all out of money is ridiculous.”
Being lawyers, neither parent was in the habit of backing down when discussing an issue. However, Theo got the impression his father’s support of the bypass was not quite as strong as his mother’s opposition. There was another lull in the conversation, then with perfect timing, a spokesman for the Sierra Club appeared on-screen. Mrs. Boone, firmly and proudly in control of the remote, turned up the volume. The man said, “This bypass was a rotten i
dea ten years ago, and it’s an even worse idea now. It crosses Red Creek in two places and will harm the quality of the city’s water. It will be built very close to Jackson Elementary School, so there will be twenty-five thousand vehicles a day, many of them big trucks, running right by a playground where four hundred kids are playing. Think of the noise and pollution.”
Mrs. Boone increased the volume even more.
The man from the Sierra Club went on, “The environmental impact has not been carefully studied. This project is being rammed through by the politicians who get paid off by the trucking companies.”
Next was another politician, and Mrs. Boone quickly muted the television.
“What’s the Sierra Club?” Theo asked.
“A bunch of radical tree huggers,” his father said.
“It’s one of the greatest environmental groups in the world,” his mother said.
“Okay,” Theo said, and took a bite. Like most kids, Theo actually enjoyed these rare moments when his parents disagreed. He decided to keep the debate going. “I’m confused,” he said. “If the state and city are broke, then where does the two hundred million dollars come from?”
“Ask your father,” Mrs. Boone said quickly, punting the ball across the den with incredible speed and accuracy.
“They borrow it,” Mr. Boone said. “Being broke never stopped the government from spending more money. If they can’t find any money, they simply borrow what they want by floating bonds.”
“Floating bonds?” Theo asked.
“Now you’ve stepped into deep water,” Mrs. Boone said with another laugh.
“Yes, it’s pretty complicated,” Mr. Boone said. “And let’s save it for another day. The important thing to understand, Theo, is that governments do not operate the way they should. Your mom and I work hard. We represent our clients. We earn fees. We spend money on salaries, office equipment, electric bills, things like that. But, we cannot spend more than we earn. It’s that simple. Most families and most businesses do this, or at least they try to. Not so with governments. They all spend too much and borrow too much and waste too much.”
“Don’t they have to pay back the money they borrow?” Theo asked.
“In theory, yes, but it seems like they just keep putting it off on the next generation. Our generation has basically bankrupted the country, and your generation gets to pay for it.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Mr. Boone stuffed half an egg roll into his mouth so he would be required to chew for a long time and not be able to talk.
Thankfully, the governor was gone and the next story was about a professor at Stratten College who was upset at the low wages being paid to the janitors on campus. He had organized a protest in front of the administration building, but his crowd appeared to be nothing more than a bunch of janitors. The professor had long gray hair and earrings and spoke in a shrill voice.
“Wild Willie Webber,” Mr. Boone said. “What a clown.”
“Who’s he?” Theo asked.
“One of our better local acts. He teaches Russian history at the college and thinks he’s a Communist. Always stirring up trouble, or trying to anyway.”
Of course Mrs. Boone was not about to agree. She said, “He’s actually a very effective activist for a number of causes.”
“What’s an activist?” Theo asked. He refused to allow a new word to fly by without a definition.
Mrs. Boone thought for a second, then said, “An activist is a person who has strong feelings about an issue, or issues, and is willing to get involved to bring about change. Woods?”
Woods nodded and said, “Yep, that’s close enough. I would add that an activist is usually active on several fronts. The same characters keep popping up over and over.”
“I suppose,” she said.
Judge had an eye on one of Mr. Boone’s egg rolls, one of the two remaining ones, but he knew his chances were slim. Instead, he went to the kitchen for a drink of water, then returned to the den, where he situated himself directly in front of Mr. Boone and stared at the egg rolls.
“Get out of the way, Judge,” Mr. Boone said.
“Dad, he loves egg rolls,” Theo said.
“So do I, and I’m not in the mood to share.”
“He shouldn’t be eating Chinese,” Mrs. Boone said. It was something she said at virtually every meal when Theo started dropping food down to Judge. Both Mr. and Mrs. Boone thought it was unwise to feed a dog off the table, and they said so often, but even while they were telling Theo not to feed Judge they knew exactly what he was doing. Mr. Boone himself was known to drop a scrap or two, and if Mrs. Boone saw it she would always say, “Woods, don’t feed the dog.” But Woods would feed the dog whenever he wanted to, and the next day he would say to Theo, “Theo, don’t feed the dog.”
Strange behavior. Theo was often baffled by the things his parents said and did. For example, every night around 9:00 p.m. when his parents were reading or talking or puttering in the kitchen, Mrs. Boone would say, “Woods, it’s your turn to make the coffee.” Every night after dinner, Mr. Boone ground the coffee beans, poured the water, adjusted the dial on the automatic brewer, and got everything ready for the first pot that was automatically brewed at 6:00 each morning. The couple enjoyed waking up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, though Mrs. Boone actually drank very little. Mr. Boone craved the caffeine, and for this reason he was quite happy to go about his little nightly ritual of “making the coffee.” It was his job, one that he wouldn’t share with anyone. The beans had to be properly measured. The water had to be at a certain level. The filter had to be a certain type. And so on. Nevertheless, every night Mrs. Boone felt the need to remind her husband, and his response was always, “Yes, dear, I’ll get to it in a minute.”
Mrs. Boone refused to take out the garbage. That chore belonged to Mr. Boone, or, more often, Theo. It was no big deal and Theo didn’t mind it at all. But for some reason, and out of a habit that Theo was sure neither of his parents could ever explain, about twice a week he heard his father ask, “Honey, have you taken out the garbage?” To which Mrs. Boone responded every time, “No, I just painted my fingernails.”
Theo had little interest in his mother’s fingernails and how often she painted them, but he was almost certain she got them worked on at a salon every Friday morning. They always looked nice, as far as Theo noticed.
Why did his parents do these odd things? Theo rarely withheld questions, but he had a hunch that some questions were better off left unasked. Perhaps some questions could not be answered. He also suspected married people settled into routines and did things so often they didn’t even realize they were doing them.
As he was pondering these things, his mother asked, “Theo, did you finish