Tell me the truth:

. . . . is my font too light?

Would it be better if it were blacker? Or am I just getting too old?

Wait, did I just post a racist font question? I apologize sincerely.
Well, I apologize. Let's leave it at that.

And now, a random story from my youth. The other night, I was telling my parents about taking My Bride and The Boys across the Kampsville Ferry on our trip down to the river to see the replicas of the Nina and the Pinta (short version: it rained. We toured Renaissance caravels in the pouring rain, had a picnic in the pouring rain, went fishing in the pouring rain, drove a hundred miles in the pouring rain . . . then rode the ferry in the sunshine.) My mother assures me that this really happened when I was about ten years old:

"We were going to cross over the Brussels Ferry to go to the game area, not far from where you and the kids were at Grafton today. Grandpa was with us. You wanted no part of that ferry; the more we talked about it, the more you insisted that you wouldn't ride it, no way, no how.
'I'm not getting on any ferry!' you said. 'You can't make me ride a ferry! I just won't get on!'
'It's not scary, buddy,' your dad said. 'It's just like being on the road. It's actually a lot of fun.'
'I'm not riding a ferry! I don't ride ferries!' you said. You were almost yelling. I was afraid you might cry. Then your grandpa said something like, 'You like to go fishing in my boat, right? This one is actually a lot safer than that. You can't get hurt unless you jump over the side.'
You opened your eyes wide and looked at him like he'd just turned on a light in a dark room.
'Ohhhhh!' you said. 'You're talking about a boat!' And then you were happy as could be."