Hannah Reynolds considered the cooked carrot on her plate. Her mother had removed it from the pot roast, allowed it cool and presented it to Hannah to see what she would make of it. The toddler looked at it, appeared to considere various possibilities and then concluded that it was a squishy orange tool used to push cheerios around on a plate.

Jag Reynolds beamed as he watched his granddaughter. Chris couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his father smile. Actually, he had to think hard to remember the last time he had seen him without his mask. There was no hint of Soldier Boy at the dinner table. Here there were no superheroes, just family. It was an idyllic moment that briefly took Chris’ mind away from the many ways that this day could become a train wreck.

Chris had asked his father to show up at the house in a presentable condition: shaved, dressed in something better than jeans and a tee shirt and with no trace of scotch on his breath. He was relieved when his father walked through the door clean faced, dressed in slacks and a dress shirt which both looked newish, and with his breath smelling strongly of mouth wash with the barest hint of alcohol. Jag’s other orders were to watch his language around Hannah, compliment Kat whenever possible, not scratch indiscreetly and stay out of the kitchen.

So far, so good. His father was behaving himself. Now if Chris’ wife would follow suit.

Kat Reynolds glided out of the kitchen with a plate in each hand. She wore a lovely dress, high heels and pearls. Just like any dutiful housewife from a fifties sitcom. A broad, insincere smile adorned her face. Kat was big into performance art in college and when she felt like being sarcastic she pulled out all the stops.

She carefully placed one plate in front of her husband and kissed him on top of the head. She then turned to Jag, scowled and dropped the plate on the table in front of him. She was back in the kitchen before it clattered to a halt.

“Honestly, son. I don’t know how you can stand living with that woman,” Jag said in as soft a voice as he could muster.

“I don’t live with ‘that woman‘. I live with an intelligent, engaging and nurturing woman. She only becomes ‘that woman’ when you’re here.”

“But I’m being good. Aren’t I?” Jag turned to his granddaughter for support. “What do you think, peanut? Haven’t I been good?”

Hannah replied by pulling the carrot out of her nose and offering it to her grandfather.

“No thanks,” Jag said with a laugh. “My doctor has me on a low booger diet.”

Jag picked stray peas off the tablecloth and rearranged his plate. “What did I ever do to her anyhow?”

Chris shot his father a look of disbelief. “You had an affair with her mother which resulted in her parent’s divorce.”

Jag rolled his eyes. “Is that still my fault?”

Kat returned with her own plate, sat down and the adults began to silently eat their dinner while Hannah observed the ceremony. Before long Jag was attacking his pot roast as if he were afraid it would get away. He was obviously enjoying the home cooked meal. Chris and even Kat looked on with amusement while Hannah saw nothing in her grandfather’s behavior worthy of note. Soon, Jag noticed that all eyes were on him and he came as close to blushing as he ever had.

“Pardon my manners,” he said with a laugh. “This is just the best meal I’ve had in years. Seriously, it‘s fucking-A.”

Kat shot Chris the do-something-about-your-father look.

“Dad, language in front of Hannah, please.”

“Why? What did I say?”

“Fucking-A,” Chris said softly.

“Fucking-A?” Jag said loudly. “Did I really say fucking-A?”

“Dad…” Chris said.

“I’m sorry, Kat. I didn’t mean to say fucking-A.”

Dad…”

“Fucking-A is just something I say without thinking.” Every time Jag said ‘fucking-A’ Kat flinched as if there were electrodes on her nipples.

“Actually, when you think about it,” Jag continued unwisely, “fucking-A is a compliment. You see, Kat, fucking-A is what’s called an intensifier…”

“Will you please stop saying fucking-A?” Kat snapped.

With that Hannah raised her chubby arms above her head and said, “Fucking-A.” Then she smiled sweetly.

Kat looked on with horror, Jag laughed out loud and Chris welcomed his old friend, dread.

Jag leaned over to Kat. “Just for the record, she was copying you.”

Stone faced, Kat stood, plucked Hannah from her seat and left the room with her as the toddler waved bye-bye to her father and grandfather.

“Aw, come on,” Jag said. “Don’t go away mad. Kids pick things up. It’s normal. Isn’t it normal, Chris?”

“Yes, Dad. That’s normal language development. Mama, dada, fucking-A, that’s the usual progression.”

The men sat and picked at their plates until it dawned on them both that a change of topic was in order.

“It was Tikrit, wasn’t it?” Jag said.

“Pardon?”

“The Tikrit mission. That’s the reason they shut down the Soldier Boy Project, isn’t it?”

“Dad, that decision was the result of a lot of stuff that built up over time. You know that.”

“Yeah, but there must have been a last straw. Something that made the brass throw their hands up, unplug the coffee pot and turn out the lights. Was it Tikrit? Because I’m not the one who spooged that mission.”

“It wasn’t Tikrit, Dad. It was…” Chris considered not continuing, but he knew Jag was going to get it out of him anyway. “It was the way you behaved on your last TV interview.”

Jag slumped back in his seat and rolled his eyes. “Appearances. I’m out there getting it done, and those fancy boys are worried about appearances. That’s just great.”

Jag stabbed at his plate and chewed his food angrily. “There wasn’t anything wrong with that interview. I did okay.”

“You seemed a little drunk,” Chris said.

“Of course I was drunk. It was The View. Jesus Christ, you can’t expect a man to go on The View sober. Don’t you know that’s what Hell is like? An eternity of being a guest on The View?”

“Also,” Chris continued. “You were kind of obviously ogling Barbara Walters.”

“Oh, that was noticeable, huh? I was just trying to remember how she used to look naked.”

“That’s all well and good, dad, but…” Chris stopped, considered what his father had said and decided that there was a story there that he hoped he would never ever hear.

“Anyway, dad, it was the culmination of a lot of things, and I don’t think you should dwell on it too much. You did real good. You were a superhero for nearly forty years. I’m not sure, but I think that might be a record for someone who isn’t immortal.”

“I guess I did okay,” Jag said as he picked at his food.

“You did damned good,” Chris said, “and I think you should make peace with it, relax and figure out how you’re going to spend your retirement.”

Jag poked at his food.

“You… you are retired, right?” Chris asked hopefully.

Jag chewed slowly and avoided responding as long as possible.

“Damned good pot roast,” he said wryly. “Fucking-A.”