I made it all the way to the zipper when the throw up came. It was a little at first. “Then it all came out,” he said. He traced an arc with his hand from the bottom of his chin down to the sleeping bag where they slept. I watched his swift angling over the air and felt the tug of him growing up. The flow fell all at once like a dunking booth at the fair, only he felt much better. “No worries it happens,” I said, “let’s write a thank you note to your scout master for cleaning it up.”
