We’re sitting at the dinner table, enjoying some of Mama’s fine spaghetti (no sauce for the Heir Apparent, but complete noodles instead of cut up this time – with butter).

A question comes to my mind that has bothered me since I was Kristofer’s age. It was inspired by the six slices of white bread that had been buttered and garlic powdered to add to our ambiance in lieu of a fresh loaf.

Having worked as a waiter for a total of three days some 17 years ago, I timed my question perfectly. Kristofer’s mouth was full of spaghetti, to the point of hanging off his chin. (more…)

“Daddy?”

“Yes, son?” We were on our way to the Donut Shop. I hadn’t expected much conversation since Kristofer had his latest Happy Meal toy with him that he’d specifically asked to bring with us today. I figured today would just be a quick visit. That doesn’t mean things can’t happen…

“When we get to Shipley’s, my Power Ranger motorcycle is going to ZOOM! And WHOOSH! And jump and speed across the table and fly over all the donuts and donut holes!”

“Okay.” This was typical back seat banter, I saw, and the radio clock said 8:59, so I knew the top of the hour news was coming on. My mind was a bit distracted waiting to hear the latest about a top terrorist being killed in Pakistan.

Not that I did it on purpose, but the adventures of the Red Power Ranger turned into “Blah blah blah” as the news cued up.

Somewhere between “Pakistan” and “New Orleans” I lost focus on my son until this suddenly came out:

“When I grow up, I can be in a band!”

Now, when Kristofer says anything about what he can or cannot do, I perk up. It’s important for him to know that he can be anything he wants to be…we talk about that every night before he goes to bed.

“You sure can!” I was wondering where that came from, but figured I missed the prelude while my head was focused on al-Qaeda.

“Yeah. And I can play the guitar, the accordion, or the drums, or a Tuba. A horn.”

Yup. I turned the radio off right then.