Nag

My son keeps asking me about financial planning. Not advice--I'd be the last one to have any--but prompting, as I stagger toward what might turn out to be retirement. He hasn't been satisfied by my evasions: it's not about money, it (whether and when to retire) is about do the benefits of my job outweigh the irritants and how badly do I want to write full-time.
One way to look at Tom's appropriate but uncomfortable reminders is that my years of parental nagging are bouncing back my way. Years ago when Tom was a speedy pinch-runner for the ballteam (The Fighting Words) I ran at U of A, I reamed him out for getting picked off 3rd base. He was about 12 at the time. My team-mates thought I'd been a tad harsh. About five years ago, when I ran another ballteam (Glove Story) here in Regina, Tom, now 23 or so, was the star slugger and outfielder. Still, I was on his case so much for throwing to the wrong base or his positioning in centre field that he finally told me to shut up and let him play. He was right.
Anyway, as a freelance comedy/improve writer/producer/performer, he's a bit like me when it comes to financial planning. It's more about doing what he wants to do.