OPINION: When children return for an encore performance

Just when you think you’re about to get your children off the payroll and take a deep sigh of relief, you find that they have returned for an encore performance.

Son one, Brenton, has been trying to find a job since graduating from the University of South Carolina. Following in the footsteps of his old man, he majored in journalism with an emphasis on advertising and public relations.

The old man knew where the pot of gold was back in the late 1960s. He took his journalism degree by the reins and rode out into an abyss armed with blanks in the news/editorial field.

Son two, Radisson, had a job with the Boy Scouts in Charlotte. He was doing an outstanding job, but had no control over the United Way of Charlotte slashing their contributions to the Scouts. He was laid off.

Both are back in the saddle at home for the time being. Radisson, who swore he would never, ever darken the portals of higher education after graduating from The Citadel, is now considering graduate school at The Citadel.

Meanwhile, they come and go at my house in Darlington. Also in residence are three dogs: Conroy, an aristocratic English bulldog, and Carolina and Schooner, genuine, purebred mutts of the highest order. The dogs are much more spoiled than the boys ever thought of being.

The dogs and I got along fairly well while the boys were out of pocket. Other than a trip to the emergency room to repair a bite to my arm after Conroy and Carolina had a major disagreement, the dogs have enjoyed a life of luxury.

But I have run into a little déjà vu with the boys. I cooked myself some fine chicken on the grill Sept. 18. I cooked enough so that I would have several pieces left over to enjoy for supper the following night because I knew I would be out of town for most of the day.

I ate very little all day and came home ravenous around 8 p.m. I opened the fridge only to discover that my chicken had flown the coop, leaving behind some dirty dishes in the sink.

And to add insult to injury, my backup also sneaked out into the crisp night air. I have a energizing soy protein thingy that I mix in a blender with milk. To add more flavor to it, I throw in strawberries and peaches.

The milk was in the fridge — barely enough to fill a shot glass. There were three bruised strawberries suffering from criminal domestic violence and the center cores of two peaches left.

I ate some peanut butter with the straggling remains of a box of saltine crackers. Where once there were four packages of saltines, there was now one, the package left open so it would be easier to get into the next time.

The saltines weren’t the freshest in the world, so I shared them with the dogs. I stuck a spoon in the peanut butter and ate it straight.

I keep two folding chairs at the bottom of the stairs to prevent Schooner from running upstairs and camping out under Radisson’s bed. Schooner settles under the bed and refuses to budge.

One of the chairs had been removed and Schooner spent part of the night upstairs. He decided about 4 a.m. he wanted to sleep in his daddy’s room. He barked I don’t know how many times in AM and then switched to FM with a boom-box bellow for more emphasis.

Radisson, of course, never heard him. I’ve never seen anybody who could sleep through a cataclysm riding herd on a typhoon.

But I did and so did Carolina and Conroy, who started baying in harmony with Schooner. I went upstairs and let him out, whereupon he darted to his sleeping spot in my room and immediately crashed.

It took me a good two hours to get back to sleep. And about the time I was drifting into a coma, Conroy and Schooner let me know it was time for recess and relief. Carolina has a bladder the size of Baghdad and goes out once a year.

But life just keeps on getting better one month after hitting the 64,000 mile mark. As a poet of yore said, “Grow old with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand.”

Life is indeed one big beach covered by a porch for those of us who don’t like to get sand in our shoes or slather on the sunscreen.