Emend is a good word, with a meaning ever so slightly different from the “A” version.
Twice on Friday my boys forced me to emend my course.
Wise discovered this broken angel statue on the walk to school. He launched into an elaborate consideration of how it came to rest in a muddy puddle on the grass next to the sidewalk. It must’ve been from the early Spanish settlers in the region. They brought it with them to put in a church. But instead they traded it with a Chickasaw man whose family held onto it for two hundred years until they were forced to take the Trail of Tears. Someone dropped it, and it was stuck in the ground near Lick Creek until the recent rain finally dug it up and planted it there.
That’s absolutely not the story. My historian-self fought with my writer-self over making Wise consider all the clues for where it really came from. I let his story stand. We can be archaeologists another time.
Later that day, Hoot and I were returning home from dropping Wise off at play rehearsal. We saw a man holding a sign that said “Homeless” and “Hungry” by the side of the road. Hoot wanted to give him money or food. I explained we didn’t have any with us.
He thought for a minute and then said, “We can go get our dinner! We can bring it back!”
I didn’t want to, because it would be out of our way. “No, we’ll just remember to bring some money and some snacks next time.”
Hoot, “Next time? Why not now? What we going to do now?”
I realized I didn’t have a good answer for that other than I just didn’t feel like it.
So home and back we went.