He draped a canopy of tulle over their kitchen table. Bows tied around each chair. Tea cups and saucers, ringed napkins, flowers on a great-grandmother’s tablecloth.

Guests arrived in tiaras, high heels, frilly dresses and flavored lipgloss. The old man in the suit answered the door and escorted them in. With a big sister’s help, the guests gathered around the art table to hot-glue silk flowers to purple and pink hats while the man in the suit took pictures for the society page.

After toiling over their fashions the debutants took a break for tea.

There was some small talk about school and dolls and Justin Bieber and the proper way to drink tea. With pinky out.

Which turned out to be harder to do than anyone had expected.

And then cupcakes. Pink with “sugar balls” – which the old man suggested would be a good nickname for his wife to call him from time to time. And the old man’s wife said…well, that’s a post for another time I suppose.

Turns out a party of proper ladies is very quiet until the sugar hits the bloodstream. Then it’s all whispers and giggles.

And laughing.

And blindfolded frog kissing.

When the party was over and all the sugar and spice and everything nice went home, the old man put on a t-shirt, grabbed a lawn chair and watched football.

His boy ran faster than he could ever remember running as a kid.

His nephews too.

Never tired. Never slowing down.

Never.

And the old man’s wife said something about how fast time runs too, how quickly little girls become ladies and little boys become young men. The old man felt a little older than when he woke up that morning. A little more grateful and alive too.