Dear Diary:

Today I made Jared laugh.

Maybe it was the greasy magic of melted cheese or the influence of caffeine after 9 p.m. Maybe it was neither. In any event, I made my 13 year old son laugh in public. He laughed in front of his friend, Matt. He laughed so hard that soda came out his nose. He even allowed his laughter to carry him out of the booth onto the floor where he gulped and gasped in spasms of mirth.

I need to point out that he wasn't laughing at me. Well, technically, he was laughing at me, but not in the usual way. I could try to write out what it was that I said. I might even attempt to phonetically include the accent that I used to deliver my lines, but it would lose something in the translation. You would say, "Yeah? And?"

What I said was beside the point. That he laughed--matters.

Jared and I have always shared a unique style of humor. Sometimes I think we are the only ones who "get" each other. He has a running shtick about Woody Allen that astounds me with its nuance. He is irreverent. He jokes about Hugh Heffner's kneecaps, W's foibles, teacher's styles, minister's meanderings, and most of all himself. He is not afraid to laugh at himself.

I sort of like this kid. I do.

I think we both sense that he is growing up. I understand the boundaries that leap up between us in the presence of others, but lately...