Father and I sat at the dining room table, eating supper.

I finished my meal and set my knife and fork down to wait for Father to finish his.

He patted his moustache with his napkin, the sign that he was done and I could take our plates into the kitchen to wash them.

He said, “Delicious, Alvin. You’ve become quite the cook.”

I learned to look at cooking the same scientific way I try to look at everything else. And while at first I tried to follow each recipe exactly as Mother’s note cards directed, I soon learned that, just as with a scientific experiment, one achieved the best results by doing a little tinkering here and there. By not being so stuck to one idea that you can’t see any other.

I reached to pick up Father’s plate and was surprised to see an envelope had been underneath it while he ate.

“Father?”

“Hmm?” he said. “I wonder what that could be?”

He looked at me and smiled.

I was motionless.

He said, “Aren’t you going to open it?”

I picked it up. The warmth from Father’s plate had seeped into the envelope, making it seem almost alive.

It was addressed to Father and the return address was …

The room began to spin around me. I plopped back into my chair with the envelope in my hand.

“Oh, Father. Why are you smiling? What if I wasn’t accepted? I’ll die!”

Father said, “I saw Mr. Green at the courthouse today. You should know I wouldn’t give you the envelope in this manner unless …”

The return address was Mr. Victor Green, Buxton Academy, Buxton, Ontario, Upper Canada.

My hands trembled as I began to unseal the envelope. Father’s plate had warmed the glue enough that it easily came open.

My eyes refused to read beyond …

Dear Sir,

It is with the greatest of pleasure that I am able to inform you that your son …

I was in! I was in! I’d been accepted for classes from the best science teacher in all of Canada!

Father and I hugged. He kissed the top of my head and said, “Oh, Alvin. I wish your mother were here to see this. She would spontaneously combust with pride.”

I said, “Oh, yes, Father, yes, she would.”

Beyond that, neither one of us could talk.

If another scientist were to peek into our dining room, they would be hard-pressed to believe that I was a thirteen-year-old young man who was soon to embark upon a voyage of learning with the most respected science teacher in Upper Ontario. All that scientist would be able to observe would be a redheaded boy shamelessly sitting in his father’s lap, crying his heart out with as much gusto and vigour as any three-year-old.

We hugged each other and cried until we laughed.