Intern

I was in a meeting on Friday when I felt my phone vibrate. I glanced discreetly down, then excused myself. “Sorry, it’s my ten year old. I’ll be right back.”

The kids have phones specifically for emergency situations, and they don’t misuse them. When they call me, they have priority over just about everything else.

Once I was outside the meeting, I answered the phone. “Is everything all right?”

“I just found out my intern is leaving!”

“Um… You have an intern?”

“She’s leaving! Tomorrow is her last day. We have to get her something.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to figure out the joke. I was fairly certain that my youngest son did not have an intern. “What’s your intern’s name?”

“Da-ad! I’m serious.”

“Just tell me what she does.”

“Teaches,” he said exasperated.

Ah-ha. Now, I understood. His teachers have interns who work with them. One of these interns was leaving, and he was panicked because he wanted to make sure to get her a going away present.

“Got it,” I said. “No worries. We’ll get her something tonight.”

“Okay.”

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