Kid's home

Friday, I picked up Briscoe, my younger son, who is staying for Easter weekend. We did mondane things, ate dinner at an IHOP, drive through traffic, visiting with my barking group. We didn't have to do anything special because, despite the miles and the time apart, he is still the kid (does pick up the tab now) and I'm still the dad.

He's moving to France this year, so very far away. And, although I hate flying and cigarettes, I'm probably going to France sometime to visit. In a way this is sad, as already far away becomes really far away. In a way this is not sad. I probably never would make it to France, my family's ancestry country (Pelletier) if not for some reason. Nice is close to Italy, so maybe I'll even get to see the countryside from Under the Tuscan Sun, one of my favorite movies.

Then, if Jon and Jen ever get married and I finish Runners, I can have them honeymoon in the city of Jon's ancestry and know what I'm talking about for a change. Maybe.