Nothing

    Here is what happened:

    I walked into the living room. The TV was on, but he wasn’t watching it. He was just kind of staring into space, slack-jawed, a vacant look in his eyes.
    “Hi, honey,” I said. “Whatcha thinking?”
    “Oh. Hi, Mom. Um, nothing.”
    “Oh, you can tell me. I’m wanting a parent-child bonding moment, and what better way than to share your thoughts?”
    “I really wasn’t thinking about anything.”
    “Now, dear, I know you were thinking of something. Do you not want to tell me?”
    “Mom, really. I wasn’t thinking of anything!”
    “Nothing at all?”
    “Nothing!”
    “Oh, come on. No one can just think of nothing. You were thinking of something. What was it?”
    “Nothing, Mom! I wasn’t thinking of anything!”
    “You mean to tell me you can just sit there and stare into space and think of nothing at all.”
    “Yes!”
    “Your mind is just empty, not a single thought wafting through it.”
    “Right!”
    “That’s impossible, son. You had to be thinking of something.”
    “NO! I WASN’T! I WASN’T THINKING OF ANYTHING!”
    “You were thinking of absolutely nothing.”
    “YES! I WAS THINKING OF ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!”

    It could have gone on in this vein for quite some time. I am quite good at goading him. It’s the skill of cross-examination coupled with maternal skepticism. With every question I let him know by my tone and cocked eyebrow how silly I thought his response was. He got more and more defensive of his vacant brain. It worked with the ex, it worked with the mini-him. For that matter, it’s worked on every male I’ve ever encountered. Well, all but three. Those three were much to fast on their toes to let me think I had caught them with helium between their ears.