A Huge Iceberg Split From Antarctica. (They Just Grew Apart.) [NYT] @KendraWrites

"What color are icebergs?" my son asked me one evening.
"Green, I think" I told him. He nodded and wrote it down; he was doing his homework at the kitchen table.
Two days later I was called to my son's school for an appointment with the principle -- Mr. Abernathy. I wasn't too concerned about it when I went into his office; my boy is pretty levelheaded and doesn't get into much trouble.
"Sit down, please" said Mr. Abernathy, a man with rusty brown hair and a mole on his chin.
"What can I do you for?" I asked him jocularly. But he didn't smile back.
"You told your son that icebergs are green, is that right?" he asked me.
"Yeah" I said. "I read that in some novel somewhere or other. Why, is that a problem?"
"Yes it is" he told me. "A serious one."
"How so?" I asked.
Mr. Abernathy got up from his desk and pulled down a map of Antarctica, on which a little white speck off the coast was circled heavily in black. 
"This is the Great Loose Tooth Iceberg, recently calved from the East Coast of Antarctica. It's bigger than the island of Maui. Does it look at all green to you?"
"Not particularly" I said, feeling a hot blush creeping up my neck. "I guess you'd call it off-white."
"Certainly not green" he replied grimly. He pulled on the map to snap it back up and then sat at his desk again. I noticed he kept a long chain of tangled paperclips on it. 
Not understanding what this was all about, I sat mumchance. Finally Mr. Abernathy cleared his throat and spoke.
"With the current global crisis, calling icebergs green is totally inappropriate. It teaches impressionable children that icebergs are harmless, possibly charming, fairy tale things to be made fun of or passed over lightly. This kind of anti-climatism is no longer tolerated at this school. Do I make myself clear?"
I could only gape at him.
"What in the Sam Hill are you talking about?" I finally said. "You make it sound like my boy committed a hate crime or something."
"A crime against the climate" said Mr. Abernathy, his chin mole quivering with outrage. 
I'd had enough of this idiocy. I stood up.
"Fine" I said. "I'll just take my son out of your school and put him someplace else."
"Sit down, sir" said Mr. Abernathy harshly while pushing a red button on his desk. "You will never see your son again. He will be reassigned to another family unit where he will hopefully unlearn all the anti-climactic poison you have been feeding him all these years." I sat down, aghast. What was happening here? My throat went dry with consternation. 
Two burly men, dressed in Sherwood green sports jackets and brown neckties, entered the room and lifted me bodily from my chair. I clawed desperately at them and finally managed to poke one in the eye with my thumb. He let go, and I swung around to the other goon to slash at him with my car keys. Then I was out the door, running down the hallway, looking for my son's classroom. 
When I found it I crashed through the door to confront his teacher, Ms. Larkins. 
She was so beautiful when startled that I asked her to marry me.
"Of course, Anthony" she said. "I've been waiting for you to ask me for years." 
"They're coming to take me away now" I told her. "We don't have much time. Do you mind a civil ceremony?"
"Not at all, darling" she replied softly. 
So we were married by the hall monitor. I only had time to give her a single tender kiss before the goons were on me, dragging me away.
"Take care of my little boy!" I cried to her.
"Which one is he?" she screamed after me. But I never got the chance to tell her. The goons knocked me unconscious.
When I awoke I was sitting in a hotel lobby. Wearing a big white apron and a chef's toque. 
"Oh, there you are" said a tall thin man, who was obviously the concierge. "The colonel wants his iceberg lettuce salad immediately."
"Roquefort or thousand island?" I replied stupidly, my head still reeling.
"Just oil and vinegar, as you very well know" replied the concierge tartly.
Then it hit me . . . iceberg lettuce is green. And I began to laugh.
This was all part of the initiation ceremony for the Freemasons. The Grand Lodge had accepted me! I gave the concierge the secret handshake, he helped me to my feet, and we walked arm-in-arm into the beautiful Swedish Rite hall, where Ms. Larkin and my son were waiting for me, dressed in their ceremonial sashes . . .