Like Father, Like Son

My job with the Feds allows me to assume what is known as an "alternative work schedule," or "AWS." I work a nine-hour day, and have one day off every other week, without use of annual leave. Yesterday was my "AWS day."

It is on my regular day off, that Paul and I have developed the custom of meeting for dinner in the evening. As a young man constantly on the go with long hours at the restaurant, just trying to make it on his own, this affords us the only real time to talk on a regular basis.

We cover the usual hot-button subjects like politics and religion. We aren't far apart on too many things. Where we are, there's the sort of understanding that goes unsaid. Our other deep subjects tend to be about history, philosophy, and trends in both popular music and digital media (you know, video games, web design, stuff like that). Then there's the usual round of things; how's the job, did you get your car fixed, and what's up with going to school next semester.

I've told him about my new place, along with sufficient warning that the second bedroom (officially identified as a "den") measures about seven-and-a-half by eight feet. "Dad, that's smaller than what I've got now." I figure that other than sleeping and studying, he won't be there much.

Doesn't sound like much to some of you? Well, that's 'cuz you never had a son who barely spoke to you for three years, with his mother all but encouraging the trend. What I have now is "better late than never," and I'm grateful.

The father who greeted the prodigal son didn't lament the time lost. He killed the fatted calf and put new clothes on that which was once lost, and now found.

Works for me.