by Lorri Horn
Dewey thought he did. He liked being his own boss too, and he was only eleven. He figured by his dad’s age you’d probably get sick of someone else telling you what to do all the time.
But Alaska? Surely there’d be a way out of this now that he knew the problem, though it seemed more complicated than ever.
“I see,” said Dewey before nodding. “Dad. I can finish the dishes now. My feet got to rest while we were talking.”
Dewey’s dad patted him on the head. “You’re a good boy. We’ll make your sisters do them tomorrow then.” He left the room with his mind already on other dad things, like how he was going to find time to wash the car tomorrow and where, since his favorite place was closed for remodeling.
Dewey, on the other hand, was not done with this topic. He finished washing the dishes and set his mind to following up the conversation with his mother. First he needed to think. He knew she didn’t want to go either, but he had to come up with some way to get her to understand that they needed Dad to be happy doing what he does here. And fast.
