I’ve gotten into the habit of reading something at the dinner table. It’s not an anti-social act, and I certainly don’t cut myself off from the family with an iron curtain stock page. But since the eight minutes of dinner are some of the few that I have to read, I commonly position a section of the paper to the left side of my plate as I eat dinner to steal a glance or skim an editorial.
The other day, I found myself as the chef and server as Caleb and Owen were bellied up to the table for their grilled cheese. As I was bringing the soup from the stove to the table, I noticed that Owen (almost three and firmly planted on the stool) had found reading material and placed it—you guessed it—to the left side of his plate.
Just after an emotional tug at the heart and a moment of “that’s m’boy” pride began to swell, I noticed what he was reading. It was the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue that had been delivered earlier that day.
