First of all, thank all of you for your sweet prayers on behalf of Son Three. The surgery was successful and uneventful other than the Doc deciding to take out the adenoids while he was in the cutting mood. {What are adenoids and how did he get them out? Seriously, are those things removed through the ears, the nose, the throat? I’m thoroughly baffled but not brave enough to look it up on YouTube.}

The most enjoyable part of the day was seeing the boy drunk as a bicycle on the ‘happy juice’ he was given before going to the O.R. My girlfriend Tammy, who happens to be the Most Awesome Day Surgery Nurse Ever, held our hands and petted Three as the medicine took effect. I knew we were in trouble when he started dancing in the bed, waving his hands over his head, and singing, “It’s time to raise the roof, uh huh, oh yeah..”.

The looser Three’s tongue got, the more fun we had at his expense. Luke asked, “Is there anything you’ve not told me the truth about that you would like to tell me now?”

Three said, “Yeeeeesssss. I’ve been drinkin’ beer.”

Where’d you get beer?

“At Hooters.”

These are the times you wish your friend hadn’t just introduced you as pastor and pastor’s wife to the entire nursing staff.

In an earlier decade, Luke and I would have made careful explanations to anyone who would listen that we have never (Not ever, never in our whole life! Please believe us – never!) been to Hooters. But, now that we have a little mileage on us, we just laughed our heads off and impishly let everyone wonder how our 9 year-old learned about beer and Hooters.

And now you are wondering. I know you are.

And I’m still laughing my head off.

After the procedure was over, the Doc gave us the rundown on how things went. I suppose I should be alarmed that the first thing he said was, “Always keep a watch on this boy and drugs. He enjoys them very much.”

Why, thanks Doc for speaking that hopefully un-prophetic word over my son.

And then he said, “By the way, how does someone in Alabama become such a huge Georgia Bulldog fan?”

What makes you ask that, Doc?

“Well let’s just say right before we put him under he started fist-pumping and yelling, ‘woof woof woof GO DAWGS’.” (Aren’t we proud, Mandy and Annie?)

That’s my boy. At least he remains true to his convictions when he’s on The Junk. If he’d been cheering Roll Tide we would have wheeled him straight to Rehab.

Instead, we ended up at WalMart to get the boy a little post-surgical prize.

Isn’t that where all good parents take their child after an operation?

Perhaps Three isn’t the one who needs the Intervention after all.

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