So we’re out driving with the kids this long weekend. I tell them over my shoulder, “So guys, Amazon made a new original version of King Lear that’s going to be on this month, does anybody think they’d want to watch that with me?”
“Yeah.” “Sure.” “Are we allowed to?”
“You’re always allowed to watch Shakespeare with me,” I tell them. “I just didn’t want to force anybody. King Lear’s a tough one.”
“Is that the one where the king dies, and his daughter hates him?” asks my oldest from the far back seat.
And then this happened. My son, my youngest, who can’t take his head up and away from his phone and his YouTube videos, says, “No, his daughter loves him the most. But she doesn’t want to just say oh blah blah we love you so much we love you more than anything like the two sisters do because all they want is the land. So the father sends her away but then when he figures out that the other two don’t really love him the other daughter comes back with her army to save him.”
I swear I got teary-eyed. As soon as he started talking I looked my wife, unable to speak, with what I hope was a, “All my life has built to this moment” look.
When he stopped, and when I could speak, I said, “Nice job, son. That made daddy very happy. Well done.”
“But I only know it because you told me.”
“Yes but I think the last time I told you the story of King Lear was like six years ago. I didn’t think you were listening.”