At dinner yesterday, Tom announces that instead of the Algonquin Round Table that we normally hold -- covering art, theatre and the important topics of the day, including which Justice League villain is the coolest and which Transformer rules the Jungle Planet -- it was Poetry Night and he had a piece he was going to share.

As an experienced parent, I, of course, take this to mean he's going to taunt his brothers. And sure enough: "Michael is crazy," he says, "and he is lazy." Then he gets the smug look that means he knows what a poem is, dammit, and that was a poem.

But before Mikey can throw something at him, I say, "My turn!

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,starving, hysterical, naked--" and the boys suddenly crack up. You learn early that Beat poetry is funny.

After a moment, they sort of sputter to a halt and into the quiet, Joanne says, "Naked." And they're off again, laughing their fake-sounding little boy laughs.

And after another moment, the silence settles in and Jo says, "Pants." And they're lost once more.

Beneath the din, she looks over at me and says, "They have your sense of humor."

"You said pants!" Mikey shrieks.