“Alexander wept, for there were for worlds left to conquer,” I chuckled under my breath as I watched my son wreck his foam block fort like the Macedonian Godzilla. “Alright, bud. Time to get your stuff. We need to go grab your sister before the pizzeria closes,” I said before swooping him up and delivering a raspberry on his tiny belly. He squealed with joy like only three-year-olds can and squirmed out of my grasp to grab his favorite jacket. The duster had originally belonged to an oversized doll at a tacky gift shop outside tombstone, but once Leo set his little blue piercers on it, it was settled.

We looked like a time-skip super duo with my aged skater look playing against his wee demon of the West style. I hoped he’d find time to don a legionary costume at some point— then I’d know my influence worked.

Leo’s sister, Lyra just finished her first soccer season, and the team had been rewarded with a dinner at the last local pizzeria in town. It had classic plastic red glasses with air bubbles in them. Every time I held one, I could remember my first taste of Dr. Pepper and the anticipation for team awards. I had money on Lyra receiving most tenacious. Even at five years old, there wasn’t a damn thing that scared her— she had to have picked that up from her mother. I can’t remember many moments of fearlessness.