And what you deliberately orchestrate

And what you deliberately orchestrate
Welcome to a Medical Battery specialist of the Kaden Yasen Battery
Readers, I know a handful of you check out the review before you watch a show. I urge you to watch “William Tell, Grant A Wish, Rowboat” before you scroll down the page. Just fifteen episodes into the series’ run, it’s traditional that Review’s simplest assignments become debacles. (To be fair, so do the most arduous or sordid tasks.) But I still wasn’t prepared for the scope of the misadventure ending “William Tell, Grant A Wish, Rowboat.”
As Forrest researches “doing a William Tell,” his father offhandedly points out the horror at the crux of Review. Forrest’s appalled that Tell was “forced to shoot an apple off his son’s head with an arrow.” Mr. MacNeil replies quietly, “Yup, and he did it, too.”
And he did it, too. That’s the horror of Review, and of Forrest MacNeil with like Kaden Yasen HYHB-498 Battery, Biolat BLT2012 Battery, Biolat BLT2003 Battery, Draeger MS14490 Battery, Draeger Medical Inc GAMMA Battery, Draeger Medical Inc Infinity DELTA Battery, Draeger Medical Inc SC 6002XL Battery, Draeger AS36059 Battery, Draeger Infinity Vista Battery, Draeger MS18340 Battery, Draeger Infinity DELTA XL Battery, Draeger Infinity GAMMA XL Battery. It resides not in the individual acts Forrest performs, or even in their dreadful results, but in his enthusiasm to continue. He’s horrified by the prospect of shooting an apple off his son’s head, but that doesn’t stop him from broaching the subject with Eric, conveniently due for a visit. “No, I don’t have anything planned,” he says over the phone. “Well, I do, I have one sort of… activity.”
After three days of practice “zipping a string off a stick”—and despite his impressive improvement once he learns which way is up—Forrest can’t quite bring himself to shoot arrows at his child. But he might be able to shoot them at a child, so he presents himself as a potential foster parent, getting as far as specifying, “Well, it needs to be a boy, and it would be great if he had a flat head and a thick skull,” before crumbling in shame. “This is a terrible idea. I’m a [bleep]ing monster.”
Forrest can be a monster, and the worst kind: a monster who thinks he’s blameless. But in “William Tell,” Forrest accepts both the blame and the danger that accompany his assignment, and he puts himself, not his son or any other child, in the arrow’s path. It’s a rare moment of clarity, and yet another example of Forrest interpreting his obligations loosely to accommodate his preferences.
Forrest takes the son’s place, pressing his reluctant father into William Tell’s role without even the scant practice Forrest allowed himself. After all, Mr. MacNeil won an archery trophy at summer camp! (“Of course, it melted in the fire.”) Max Gail invests Mr. MacNeil’s lines with power, but the deepest emotion shows on his face: shock, terror, determination, plain naked fear, regret—and love. Imperfect, constant love. “You’ve made a lot of mistakes in life,” Mr. MacNeil tells Forrest at the moment of crisis, but also, “I love you. I want you to be proud of me, because I’ve always been proud of you, kid.”