When I was about 5, and my brother Matt was about 3, we used to get up every Saturday morning at 6:00 to watch Superman on WREC-TV out of Memphis. Because he had a Superman suit, my brother believed he could fly just like Superman. I wasn't stupid. I knew he couldn't fly, and I told him so. He didn't believe me, and one day, he stacked up three footstools. He climbed up on top of them. He must have been about 3 1/2 or 4 feet in the air. He stood there, insisting he could fly just like Superman. I told him he could not fly, and we went back and forth for a while until finally I said 'ok, prove it!'. He dove off the footstools, and I was right. He couldn't fly. He gave it a good effort...perfect form..arms straight out in front...absolutely prone... and he landed on the hard linolimum floor flat on his belly. It shook the house so much that mom looked over and saw Matt laying on the floor turning blue.
How does this relate to barbeque, you must be wondering. Here's how. When you go to the diner at the place where you work, and the chef proudly tells you that he's serving barbequed pulled pork, you just need to eat it. Quietly eat it...and smile a lot. What ever you do, when the chef asks you how you like it, tell him you like it just fine. Sometimes, it doesn't pay to tell folks something they don't want to hear. Let them believe what they want. If they don't know that you can't barbeque in a gas oven, don't be the one to tell them. It will only piss them off.
Back to Matt...just after he dove off the footstools, Dad walked in. Dad managed to get Matt to breathing again, and Mom wore my ass out for...for...well, I still don't know why I got my ass beat. What I do know is that later, when Mom was holding Matt, and he had his head laid on her shoulder, he looked over at me. His blue eyes were really set off by the Superman suit. He looked at me with tears still in his eyes and softly he said "Bullets will bounce off of me."
I let that one go.
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