Column: How My Father's Day Started

It had been a long day and we were fast approaching our 6-year-old son's limit for tedium.

We had been dragging him around the mall for a couple of hours and we just found out that it was going to take longer than expected for Mom to get her iPhone fixed.

My son needed mercy.

"Owen, want to head for pizza?" I asked.

"Uh-huh," he said in a pre-zombie stupor.

The boys broke off into a search party for pizza. I explained his pizza options as we went: stuffed pizza, white pizza...but really we are both pretty conservative.

"Two plain pieces and two pink lemonades, please."

Owen danced in anticipation as I ordered. (Pizza's potential anti-zombie properties should be noted.)  

He carried the drinks and picked our seats smiling. Instead of sitting across from each other, he set us up side-by-side.

We sat and then he assessed the situation. He moved his plate so it was in a similar position to mine, and then he did the same with his cup.

This long Friday started with his kindergarten graduation.

His teacher said we'd be amazed at how much he would change over the school year. We are.

"This could be the start of Father's Day," he  said.

Then he folded his pizza to mirror the way I folded mine.

Then he smiled again to himself.

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