I dove on those papers like Sherlock Holmes on a cappuccino binge.

(Yes teenage boys who are fine always cry on their mothers’ shoulders until they leave a snot trail.)

Who’s that? That’s the King. Who’s he? The Duke. Who’s she? The Princess. What do they call you? The Count. What does that make me? Umm…how about the Peasant? And the name stuck.

It was a cheesy cheeseball, covered with Cheez Whiz and served on a bed of Cheez-Its. With a side of queso.

You are a wonderful son, and a wonderful man. Yet another parent busting forth with the “man” thing! I’d have to check my chest for signs of hair when I got home.

I tucked him in with his stuffed-animal pet dog—cleverly named Dog-Dog, by the way.

And if there was one thing I'd finally figured out, it was that your mind is something you always CAN change.