It was just one of those things. He was almost
five now, and while that might seem young to some, he had learned a few things about the workings of the world.

Fundamental things, like 'sticking a fork in an electrical outlet isn't cool, it's dumb' and 'even
if you drape your mother's very best towel around your neck, it did not mean you could jump off the roof of the garage and fly '...

He also knew when both your parents told you something really, really special would happen soon, it would suck - the only variables were "how much would it suck?" and "for how long?".

When he turned the corner with his dad, there
was the flag flying and the impeccable geometry
of Richard Nixon Elementary School. Everyone
his size was taking their place in line, under the watchful gaze of pale and nervous adults.

He listened to the countdown in his head, as
this morning's waffles prepared to blast-off.
When they reached escape velocity, he leaned forward to optimize the spread and placement on the sidewalk and his father's good shoes.


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