Tearing down the hardened shell of boogers covering my son's nostrils is one of those jobs I go into reluctantly. But I know what has to be done. Like Frodo resigning himself to be the one to carry the ring of power into the depths of Mordor, this is a task fraught with danger and pain, both physical and emotional. It's an obvious unpleasant experience for James, one that triggers waves of screams and sobbing. And probably one of the early tests of my parenthood. Some jobs are hard. Some jobs are dirty. Regardless, they must be done. When a squirrel gets loose in the living room at Christmastime, somebody has to go in there, cover it with a jacket, and whack it with a hammer.