My daughter was finally moved back from school and doing the librarian thing, organising hers and her honey’s and everyone’s books all together.  “We have too many books,” she complained, “Or at least, not enough bookcases.”

“Yeah well, what can I say …”  At least she hadn’t had to sort out the ten shelves of my horticulture, entomology and reference texts.

She was next sitting on the floor sorting through picture books and pulling the board books for the nursery. “Okay, we have enough science books in the children’s section.  Really, there are twenty books just on orcas!”

“Well, it was your brother’s special interest for several years.  And how many books do we have on elephants and dinosaurs?”

“That’s different; every kid loves dinosaurs.”

“Uh-huh …”

“All of our science books have Pluto, and I will teach him ‘The Controversy’!” she grinned. “Hey, there’s not enough room for all this science fiction; how ’bout we keep it down in the basement?”

“Fine with me; you’re in charge.  We can keep the boxes of comics on the wood table.  Your brother will need to pick up his gaming cards and stuff first.  And some day, I would like to get my train set back up.”  Thinking of her baby, I paused a minute and asked, “What if the boy isn’t a geek?”

The odds, we decided, are vanishingly small.  He’ll be a third-generation geek.


“I think I’m over the top,” said papa-to-be, M.

I looked up at him.

“For being a Star Trek geek.  I have 712 images of the Enterprise.”

“What’s geekier, you think,” I asked my daughter, “having that many images, or counting them?”

“Counting them.” she decided.