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Nothing Never Not Happened

“I like it when you park far away, Daddy,” Cayde remarks to which I say, ‘You’re welcome,’ despite it not being my choice. You should see the queue in front of the school come 3:30. I walk the boys to my car; it’s Sherman Heights so there are Victorian houses in varying degrees of upkeep. It’s also cold and Cayde is happy being in short sleeves whereas I do my best fast-walk in multiple layers. I park on 21st, usually, in front of the historic house which features an official sign: HISTORIC SITE.
The sign also features the parenthetical: “(Built in 1887. Nothing happened here)”, which has Cayde questioning:
“What does that mean?”
I explain how it’s a joke while placing Finn in the car–halfway hurling Finn, actually, into the back seat, the back regions of the car something difficult to negotiate–and I say again: “There’s no such thing as ‘nothing happened’, Cayde.”
“OK,” he says, shrugging, not getting it.
“There’s no such thing as nothing happened, Cayde. It’s a joke.”
He doesn’t get it, and I remember when he was three, the same age as Finn, and when every sentence was historical.
“Nothing never not happened, Cayde–you understand?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
The sign sprouts from artificial turf  and a cat by the always closed door has its eyes closed and one ear bent.
Things continue to not not happen.

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