Tonight I’m eating meatloaf and mashed potatoes and peas, classic American diner food, and the news in the background is talking about the school shooting in Nashville. I can’t stop thinking about the grandboy. I’ve never seen any human eat as much that kid. It’s a mathematical impossibility anyone so skinny can eat so much goddamn meatloaf.

He’s a good athlete, and he doesn’t like girls; on girls I just tell him to give it time, he’ll out grow that. He doesn’t like girls but he’s been in one fistfight, I know of, sticking up for his sister and I supported his decision on that fully.

He likes dinosaurs, but he says I don’t have to send him dinosaur news to his mom’s cell phone anymore. That makes me a little sad because he growing up but a little relived because it’s not very easy to find dinosaur news everyday. He likes mechanical things like cars and bikes and learning about electrical circuits and video games.

This summer he wants us to build a catapult and a robot. He thinks I’m smart. He’ll out grow that too. He’s nine.

Me and Osama Bob have a 1992 Mustang with his name on it. The boy will learn to build engines and how to work a clutch and shift a five speed and I’ll see to it he does.

So, I’m eating my meat loaf and mashed potatoes and I’m choking back tears because the news is reporting about Nashville and those kids were eight and nine, and this keeps happening in America because we love guns more than our kids and that doesn’t even make me mad anymore, just fucking sad