Look what the grandson brought home

Yeah, it's a dirt bike with no seat. And it doesn't run.

I told him that while he's here, he can't get a motorcycle. However, since this is a dirt bike, I'll let him keep it.

As long as he doesn't throw all his money into this project, I'll be glad to see him enjoy it.

However, if his whole paycheck starts disappearing, his rent goes up. I'm not letting him live here practically free unless he either (a) saves some money or (b) gets his teeth fixed. Or both.

Because I don't enjoy helping people who won't help themselves. And no, he doesn't read this blog.

My radar still works

The grandson came in from a long Saturday night, at 5 AM this morning. No big deal. He's of age, and I told him he doesn't have to report in to me while he's staying here.

But I knew something was amiss. There was something in the way he greeted me (yes, I'm always up by 5 A.M.).

Turns out he'd been having fun in the river bottoms again with his friends. And somehow ended up with a busted windshield. Oh yes, and he lost a license plate.

I don't mind helping someone who is willing to help himself. But my patience is starting to wear thin here.

Wake up, Grandson! Ain't nobody else going to let you live with them for $25 a week.