At the grocery store, Mason carried the lightest bag and argued with me about it.
At restaurants he held the door for whoever happened to be behind us, including once a very startled teenager with a skateboard who said “…thanks, little man.”
When we visited my mother in Toledo, he’d offer to take her coat before anybody asked him to. She cried the first time.
The Morning With the Groceries
One Saturday in April, I came in from the car with three bags, and Mason went running back out for the last one without being asked, while Ryan stayed flat on the couch watching golf.
I smiled at my son when he came back in.
“That’s my gentleman.”
Ryan lifted his head about four inches off the cushion.
“Excellent. Wake me up when your gentleman boot camp teaches him to mow the lawn.”
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