my father dined with us saturday night. he brought a lady friend, miss jackie, along he's been seeing for a few months now. over dinner my father joked how he and jackie don't like any of the same things. she likes it hot. he likes it cold. she eats this. he eats that. she sleeps in. he's up early. he drew several illustrations of how none of their likes matched up. after my dad stopped speaking, and a brief pause in the conversation anthony, age six, broke the silence.

ANFER
grandpa.

GRANDPA
yes anthony.

ANFER
do you like living?

GRANDPA
uhhh. well. yes, i like living.

ANFER
miss jackie.

MISS JACKIE
yes anthony.

ANFER
do you like living?

MISS JACKIE
ohhhh! yes anthony, i like living very much. it's wonderful.

ANFER
so you were wrong grandpa.

GRANDPA
what?

ANFER
you were wrong about you and miss jackie not liking any of the same things. you both like living.

a long silence blanketed the table as we all looked at anthony who barely looked away from his plate to ask his questions. my father turned to me as if for an explanation. all i could think to ask him was how it felt to have an argument so easily picked apart by someone seventy years his junior.