Forget about the military spending

$600 on a toilet seat. Don't be alarmed that the Air Force has spent

$100 for a 25-cent bolt. Only in our nation's capital can one spend

$1,309 on a pigeon.

Who in their right mind would

spend $1,309 on a pigeon? My hand slowly goes up; that person not in his

right mind was me. If you are a regular reader, I'm sure that's

not too much of a surprise. But, read on, there's more to the story.

About this time each January,

hordes of high school students descend upon Washington for the much acclaimed

"Close-Up" program. The weeklong program has educated students

about the inner workings of the government and the affairs of state for

the last twenty years. So when The Boy came to me back in November and

said he wanted to go, I was one proud Dad. That was, of course, before

the now infamous pigeon incident.

Being a parent of a teenager,

I've found out a few things. For one, teenagers will argue with a

rock ... and win. For the last two months we've argued about what

he should pack for the trip. He wanted to pack tennis shoes. I wanted

him to pack dress shoes. He wanted to pack cargo pants. I wanted him to

pack dress pants. He thought a sweatshirt with his high school name emblazoned

across the front would be fine to wear to a panel discussion. I told him

to wear a sweater. And we won't even talk about what he said I could

do with the tie.

around, I had come to the realization that $1,309 wasn't a bad price

to pay for a week's worth of peace and quiet. Guess I wasn't

alone in my thinking. When I dropped The Boy off at the airport, some

70 other parents in the county decided that it was a good price also.

The last thing I said before he checked his bag was, "If you get

a chance at a panel discussion, stand up and ask a question." The

Boy just turned and walked off, mumbling something under his breath. I

think he said he'd miss me.

Back at home The Wife and I

rented six movies and went out to dinner three times during the week -

not once arguing with The Boy. The Boy, on the other hand, called four

times on the cell phone I told him not to take, told us that they walked

through the Air and Space Museum, saw the Lincoln Memorial, took a tour

of the Capitol, and met our representative. He called The Wife once from

Arlington and asked her if she knew where he could buy flowers for one

of the graves.

The last time he called, The

Boy said, "You guys gotta watch C-SPAN tomorrow night. I went to

a panel discussion and got to ask a question!" Upon hearing this,

I was one proud dad and immediately e-mailed the entire family. The next

night all were huddled around the TV watching "Close-Up" on

C-SPAN. The panel discussion was about paradigm shifts in American history.

After almost an hour, it was time to take a few questions. The Boy stood

up and asked a very intelligent question, and I was proud of him -

even though he was wearing a sweatshirt with his high school name emblazoned

across the front.

The week passed quickly, and

The Wife and I went to the airport to pick him up. We met at baggage claim,

and while waiting for his bags, he told us excitedly all that he did in

Washington. "The Wife was right," I thought, "'Close-Up'

is a good program to stimulate kids to learn about the government."

Then we saw the brave history

teacher who volunteers each year to chaperone the kids. Somewhat haggard,

he walked over, and I shook his hand to thank him for his bravery. The

first words out of his mouth were, "Your son had the most memorable

moment of the whole trip!"

"His question to the panel

was good," I thought as my chest swelled with pride, "but I

didn't realize it was that good."

Then the teacher said, "He

caught a pigeon!"

I turned to The Boy, who was

smiling from ear to ear. "Dad, it was easy. I was feeding it a cracker

when someone said, 'Bet you can't catch it.' I just grabbed

it and picked it up."

Dumbfounded at what he had

done, I informed him that pigeons are notorious for carrying diseases.

(Sometimes I sound just like my dad.) "Don't worry, Dad,"

he smiled. "I was wearing your gloves."

On the way to the truck The

Boy informed me that he gave the pigeon to his friend Cyle, who stowed

it away under his coat. Then they rode the Metro (Washington's form

of mass transit by rail) to Maryland, changed trains twice during the

trip, and got