'Very.'
The swan boats, escorted by ducks, moved slowly around the small lagoon, under the small bridge, around the other small lagoon, and back.
'Much of what you know,' Susan said, 'you learned at home.'
I nodded.
'Where you felt safe.'
'Sure.'
'With people who loved you,' Susan said.
'Absolutely.'
'And they took turns,' Susan said. 'Reading to you and all.'
'They took turns with everything,' I said. 'So none of them got ground down, so to speak, by being the only parent.'
'And all of them trusted each other to look out for you,' Susan said.
'Yes.'
'Did you like the books they read to you?' Susan asked.
'I guess,' I said. 'Sometimes I remember something and understand it in retrospect.'
'Probably better than you would if it had been taught to you in school.'
'Remember the Paul Simon song?' I said.
Susan smiled and sang. Badly.
' a??When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school, it's a wonder I can think at all.' '
'How come someone as perfect as you can't sing a lick?' I said.
'It's the flaw that highlights perfection,' Susan said.
'Like a beauty mark,' I said.
'Exactly,' she said.
A squirrel darted toward us and stopped hopefully.
'Do you have anything to give him?' Susan said.
'No.'
'Sorry,' Susan said.
The squirrel lingered until it was clear we were a waste of time. Then he darted off.
'So it wasn't all about being tough guys,' Susan said to me.
'It was never all about being tough guys,' I said. 'It was more about knowing what to do. They were big on knowing how to do what you needed to do. Read, fish, hunt, fight, carpenter, cook.'
'Better to know than not know,' Susan said.
I grinned. 'They taught me about sex, quite early too.'
'And well,' Susan said.
