Rollin' With My Homies

I know what you must be thinking after reading the headline to this post. "That's an unusual form of speech for the refined, civilized gentleman baby I know." Well, there are many shades of Weston. Sometimes I like to experiment with "urban" lingo.

But let's get to the subject of this post, to which the heading is alluding. I rolled over on Monday night. From my back to my stomach. Yes, that's all that happened but if you'd have been in my household to witness it, you'd have thought that I cured cancer judging by the reaction of my parents. They watched me intently for a good 30 consecutive minutes. At each stage of the rolling over endeavor, there were shrieks, squeals of delight, clapping and congratulatory exclamations all around. For presumably intelligent people, my parents seem to be impressed by the most frivolous, inane things.

I hope I don't have to settle for a life of mediocrity, in which I am incessantly rewarded for insignificant achievements and average or even subpar performances. How am I going to grow up to be one of the greatest persons of my generation with parents that applaud my every new noise, movement and facial expression? Where is the Tiger Mom I need?

Love,
WFT