Eating like a man, by Mike

I grew up in a place with no pizza delivery. I forgive my parents for this, since the tradeoff was a boy's life on a beautiful lake in the big woods. But I have been trying to make up for those lost pizza years ever since. My first year of college, I had a work-study job that was meant to help defray the cost of a private tuition. What it did was defray the cost of a dedicated telephone line to the Domino's Pizza down the street. My dorm mates and I would have a regular dinner at the school cafeteria, go back and work on papers or listen to music, and then about 10 o'clock when the reruns of M.A.S.H. started, we'd reach for the phone and order a pizza. This happened at least three nights a week during the first semester. I am happy to report that the boy is the son of the father - one of Quinn's absolute favorite foods at age 9 months is cheese pizza, pinched into bite-sized chunks for his gastronomical pleasure. During Madeline's birthday party when the gaggle of 10 year olds was downstairs making greeting cards, Quinn was in the kitchen with me getting an early sample of the six birthday pizzas that had just been delivered by, who else, Domino's. And this morning we had the ultimate confirmation of his genetic background - cold pizza for breakfast. Mmm-boy, did he love that. I look forward to many, many nights in the future of eating pizza with Quinn. My next job as a parent: Teaching him how to dial the phone.