TR: These are the good years for Barb and me. We've had a lot of people coming to our door selling things lately. Pizza fundraisers for the marching band. Candy bar fundraisers for scholarships. People selling snickerdoodles to raise money to pay the teachers. So we're thinking about getting a big dog to keep people away. (SFX) And then one morning I came downstairs and found Barb weeping into her scrambled eggs. Barb, what's wrong?
SS: I just feel like I let our kids down by not volunteering at their school and spending quality time with them and it's my fault that they've turned into vicious sociopaths.
TR: You did your best. You did all you could.
SS: I didn't sing to them. I didn't go to their soccer games. I didn't tell them stories.
TR: They begged you not to sing to them. They told their own stories. They didn't need yours.
SS: I failed them. And now they're changing their phone numbers and unfriending us on Facebook.
TR: Barb. Do you remember when the kids came home from day care, how you used to fix them beans and wieners for supper and you'd pour ketchup over it? They loved it. You gave the kids an important legacy, Barb. A legacy of ketchup.
SS: I forgot about that.
TR: And someday when the kids sit in the prison cafeteria and look at that red bottle, they'll think of you and they'll write you a letter of gratitude. Or they'll text you or something.
SS: I hope you're right, Jim.
TR: What do you say I fix us some supper----
These are the good years, summer has begun.
A new day is dawning, see the morning sun.
Life is flowing, like ketchup on a bun.
GK: Ketchup. For the good times.