And lately, it had gotten worse.
That spring, there were whole days when he barely said a word to me. Not a fight. No slammed doors. Just nothing. I’d say good morning, and he’d nod. I’d ask how school was, and he’d shrug.
“How are you doing, bud? Really?”
“Fine.”
It was always fine.
Then one afternoon in May, I found the flyer.
It was crumpled at the bottom of his backpack, under a half eaten granola bar and a library book three weeks overdue. I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for the permission slip for his science field trip. But there it was, a sheet of yellow paper, folded into a tight little square.
LINCOLN MIDDLE SCHOOL FATHER’S DAY ASSEMBLY. FRIDAY, JUNE 13. INVITE YOUR DAD, GRANDPA, UNCLE, OR SPECIAL GUY! STUDENT PERFORMANCES AND READINGS. REFRESHMENTS TO FOLLOW.
There was a clip art picture at the bottom of a cartoon father and son holding hands.
