One of the Guys

Oliver was finishing a bottle in my lap last weekend when Michael sat down on the other side of us with a bag of chips. Michael gave me an especially cheesy Sun Chip just as Ollie took his last milky gulp. Oliver turned to me, opened my mouth, and inspected the chewed-up bits of chip. He pulled my jaw down a little more, and started to reach his chubby hand inside.

"Aw fink he wanth a thip," I said to Michael, amidst the grabby fingers.

So Michael gave him one, and all of a sudden Oliver was about 16 years old and one of the guys. He took the chip and ate it like we give him the stuff every day (we don't, and actually never had), while turning to face the movie that was playing. And there they sat, father and son, side by side on the couch eating chips and entranced by the TV screen.

Sigh. This is going way too fast.