Today I went with my cousin Viken to Zmar, an Armenian Catholic monastery in the middle of one of Lebanon's countless mountain chains. It's exquisitely beautiful.
I sneaked into a building. It was a Sunday night. And I found a classroom of pre-pubescent boys with scraggly forebodings of facial hair sitting quietly and studying.
They lived at the monastery, enduring the (rigorous?) education future priests must endure. Their tameness struck me, the sense of discipline, of withdrawal from the outside world; insularity.
Then it hit me. I discovered the perfect ultimatum to put before my future child (should he/she exist) if he/she's behavior drives me bonkers. "If you can't get your act together," I'll say, "then you're off to Zmar."