“Dad!” pounced the kid as I walked in the door for lunch. “Ready to do some science experiments?” Ambushed is more like it. Was it even at the door? Maybe it was out by the front gate. She jumped me from the bushes like some kind of jungle cat. “Come on. Let’s get to work!” I didn’t even have time to put my keys down before I was dragged off. Pop was in town. That’s my dad. He went shopping. “I hope it’s OK,” he said. I came in to find a mad scientist’s den. That’s what the science kit was called. “Extreme Secret Experiments Inside!” the booklet said on the cover. There were little beakers and test tubes with colored liquid in them. White powder in packages. Eye droppers. Funnels. My daughter had a pair of goggles. There was a giant monster with a flat head hooked up to wires on a gurney. OK, maybe not that. My dad smiled. It was the kind of smile that said, “Sorry … but this is really funny as hell!” Funny for YOU! You get to leave. I get to clean the exploding volcano off the ceiling and figure out why the dog is coughing up blue bubbles. “Dad! Dad!” barked my daughter. She sounded like a seal. “Want to make slime? Glowing alien slime! oooOOOooohhh! What color slime do you want to make?” Here’s what lunch is to me: A chance to come home. Unwind. Read The Wall Street Journal. Learn … Continue reading The mad, mad scientist