And now, a few words from Chris Erskine

Our Man of the House, Chris Erskine, has moved to Saturdays along with the rest of the Home section. On Thursdays, we give you a teensy peek into his fevered, suburban brain. Today, we pick up with our hero still on a visit to his mom in the Midwest:

By the second day here, your eyes were the color of root beer. You smelled of musty pool towels and bug spray. You filed for divorce that day — from me, your father.

Really, it wasn’t my idea to try to teach you golf. You wanted to learn, remember? You took to the sport right away, heaving your club about 15 feet in frustration. You hail from a long line of guys who threw their three-irons a lot farther than they were able to actually hit their three-irons. When I said we are generally a happy people, I meant everywhere but the golf course.

I tried to save the relationship by taking you fishing. You liked that better. We dug worms in Grandma’s backyard then headed to a nearby pond, where we sought out the mighty sunfish, one of the greatest sports fish to ever laze about a shady pier.

The first sunfish had to go 4 ounces, easy, and nearly pulled you out of your flip-flops. After that you seemed to get the swing of things. With your Uncle John’s help, you were Hemingway. You were the Young Man and the Sea.

For the column in full, see Saturday's Home section. For past columns, check out the Erskine Archive (stop laughing) right here.

-- Veronique de Turenne