“Dad, what’s a revolution?” Ian had been quietly playing with some toys, so the question came out of the blue.
“A number of things. A violent overthrow of an existing government, a regular circuit around something or even spinning in place. Why do you ask?”
“I heard something on TV about the new year and how people usually make revolutions. Should I make one?”
I smiled at him. “Oh, you mean, ‘resolutions.’ A resolution is something different. It’s a promise that people make to themselves.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Why are they talking about resolutions on the news?”
I sipped my coffee. “It’s just a custom. At the start of a new year, some people make a promise to improve themselves some way or another.”
“Should I make some?”
“Well, now, that’s the question, isn’t it? If you keep them, you can be proud. If not, you’ll consider yourself a failure. What would you prefer?”
“I’d like to make one, but you’ll have to help me keep it.”
“Seems reasonable.”
“OK, I make a resolution to eat my dessert after every meal. You’ll have to help by making sure we always have some.”
“Nice try, but that’s not the way it works. Resolutions are things you’re supposed to do to make yourself a better person.”
“What should I have said?”
“Something like you’d be nice to your brother, or you’d obey Mom and me without complaining or clean your room, all on your own.”
“That doesn’t sound fun.”
“Pleasure is not the point. The whole idea is to improve.”
“I think dessert every night would improve me.”
I gave him a long, steady stare, and he returned to his toys. It’s just as well he doesn’t make any. I certainly don’t plan to make dessert every night for the next year.
William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.