Father Son Bonding

My son is big for his age. He's only five and some change, but he has the body of a seven-year-old, which is not really surprising to anyone because I was the same way.

His hair is unruly and dark but, unlike mine, you can still see it's red. Right now it’s a little too long and it falls over his forehead, almost covering his grey eyes. He has a lot of freckles all over his button nose and he has Anya's pouty lips.

Physically, he's a perfect mix of both of us. Psychologically, though, he's his own kind of monster. Even my mom says he's worse than me. At least I was still dumb at his age, but this guy is so smart that sometimes it gets a little scary.

"I'm sooo sorry, Tater," I say as I walk to him, slowly and carefully, "Is Grammy still here?"

"No. I told her she could go and I would stay put. She had an appointment and I didn't want her to be late. I hate when people are late, Jae," he says, looking up at me like a psycho.

"Hey, don't call me Jae," I complain, knowing I really mes