The other night, while we were out delivering St Phanourios Bread …
SON: Dad … girls are weird.
SON: Sometimes they smile at you like they like you … Then, the next day, they look at you like they hate you.
DAD: Yep. That’s the way they are …
SON: I mean, they might smile at you like they like you … and then 15 minutes later they look at you like they hate you!
DAD: Yep …
SON: Not even that! They might look at you one minute like they like you — and the very next minute like they hate your guts!
DAD: That’s the way they are, son …
* * * About 15 minutes later * * *
SON: Dad, what did you think of me when I was born?
SON: I mean, what did you think I would be like?
DAD: I love you more today than I did on that day. I love you no matter what you become.
SON: What if I become homeless?
DAD: You’ll always be my son … I’ll always love you.
(Or, as Fr Joseph Shahda later said I could have told him: “As long as I’m alive, you’ll always have a home.”)
Thanks God for eleven year old boys (and that I no longer am one!)