Dear Kid,

We learned all kinds of things on the drive from Orlando to Key Largo.

Burglar Notice—Just kidding. We’re home. With our Vicious Attack Dog.

We learned there are services that dog groomers offer that we’d rather not know about.

We learned that you should not cross your legs while riding a moped (and that a wreath on a moped looks ridiculous).

We learned you need to be wary of falling coconuts when you are near coconut palms (and we learned that coconuts come from coconut palms not Some Other Coconut Tree).

We learned that vans advertise butt lifts and breast augmentation and that such a van causes much discussion among people who live in Ohio.

We learned there are signs implying that people need to watch for falling bikes in Miami.

And we learned that driving to Key Largo is a Sisyphean task. Let me explain.

Once Upon a Time (not to worry, this is the short version), there was a King named Sisyphus. He was not a nice person (in Mythology, nice people are boring and don’t get stories written about them). Sisyphus had a bad habit of bragging about being more clever than the gods (which as we know is not smart) and of killing travelers and guests (which was not only not nice, it was a real affront to the gods).

Skipping over the middle of the story (you can read it on your own if you so desire), Sisyphus ended up in Hades (the land of the dead) pushing a huge boulder up a big hill. Not only does Sisyphus have to push the boulder to the top of the hill, the boulder never makes it. Each time Sisyphus gets close, the boulder rolls down to the bottom of the hill. So Sisyphus must spend eternity in useless effort and endless frustration.

Like driving to Key Largo through Miami.

Original estimated arrival time: 3:45pm. Around 5pm, there was an hour left to drive. At 5:30pm, there was an hour left to drive. At 6pm, there was an hour left to drive. It felt like we were on a car treadmill—with no potty breaks.

We learned that dinner at Mrs. Mac’s Kitchen is still delicious and that Key Lime Fudge is yummy-to-die-for.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Once upon a time, there was a god named Zeus. The only thing Zeus liked better than hurling the occasional thunderbolt was cheating on his wife (Hera). Hera did not generally (and by “generally” I mean “ever”) take these extramarital bouts with grace and dignity.

In this case upon a time, there was a lovely young mountain nymph named Echo. Echo was a sweet young thing and by “sweet young thing” I mean Echo loved to talk—and to hear herself talk. (You are too young to remember the doll called Chatty Cathy, but it may be a toned-down version of Echo.) There was nothing Echo felt compelled to keep quiet about. Echo was often amusing and entertaining and on the day of this part of the story she was amusing and entertaining Hera.

Zeus loved having Hera amused and entertained and therefore not paying attention to his every move. So he put those moves on the other mountain nymphs. No one said Zeus was brilliant—just randy.

Hera jumped directly to the (incorrect) conclusion that Echo was amusing and entertaining her (Hera) so Zeus could get away with his shenanigans. Which shows the dangers of circumstantial evidence. It also shows the danger of hanging out in the vicinity of the gods, because Hera punished Echo even though her only crime was being in love with her own voice (and therefore being something of a twit).

As punishment, Hera took away Echo’s voice and gave her (Echo) only the ability to repeat words someone else said. This did not improve Echo’s twitness.

Meanwhile, there was a boy (the son of a nymph and a river god) named Narcissus. Narcissus was a good looking dude. From the time he was a wee tot, he made the annual Top Ten Good Looking Dudes list and from the time he was 10 he owned the number one slot. People fell all over themselves falling madly in love with Narcissus, but Narcissus was the most vain individual on the planet (measured by the Bloomberg Vanity Score) and showed no interest in women, men, or goats.

Echo, in her voiceless nymph body, also fell madly in love with Narcissus. Like a love-sick puppy, she followed him around, saying (of course) nothing.

One day during all this following aroundness, Narcissus thought he heard someone. “Yo! Who’s there?” asked Narcissus. “Yo! Who’s there?” repeated Echo (since all she could do was repeat his words). Narcissus was unimpressed by this dialog. “I said ‘Who’s there’” challenged Narcissus. “I said ‘Who’s there?’” Echo echoed. After this had gone on for a while, Echo leaped out from behind the tree where she’d been hiding and threw her arms around Narcissus.

Much to her amazement, Narcissus did not thereupon declare his undying love for her. Rather, he declared his undying assessment that she belonged in a looney bin. Devastated, Echo wandered off, wasting away until only her voice was left.

Narcissus continued to shun all who adored him. At some point (the timing is sketchy) someone (the gender is sketchy) fell in love with Narcissus and, being scorned, called on Artemis (goddess of the hunt, the moon, and falling in love) to do something about Narcissus and his vanity. Artemis was big on revenge and decided to punish Narcissus.

It’s amazing what deities could get away with in those days.

It so happened then that Narcissus found a pond and wished to take a drink. It was a beautiful pond full of beautiful, clear water that reflected like a mirror. When Narcissus leaned over to take a drink, he saw the most gorgeous creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

Yep, he’d fallen head over heels with his own reflection. And because of Artemis’ intervention, there was no escape.

Narcissus sat at the edge of the pool gazing at the reflection of his beautiful self until either he faded away or killed himself out of desperation (the details in the autopsy report are sketchy). What is clear is that where he died a flower grew. Its blossom leaned out over the water to watch itself. And the nymphs called it narcissus.

Lessons for the day: Do not piss off the gods. Be humble in thy mirror.

Love, Mom