Through artful conversational technique, it was told that Miles' mother is Native American...he says only about an eighth or so. Still, neither Mom nor I were overly surprised, as Milly has that telling regal handsomeness to her features. Through further artful conversational technique, my dad asked which dropped faster: a ton of bricks or a ton of feathers. Mom and I answered just moments before dad completed his own quiz and exclaimed, "Trick question!"

Miles, brooding at the edge of the S.S. Uff Da, corrected, "Actually, the bricks would fall faster because they would have less air resistance." While struggling to refrain from slapping him upside the head, we three rolled our eyes. The boy tends to take the fun out of mindless entertainment. He wouldn't have survived in my house growing up ;-)

Thus, he became Feathers Fall Slowly, a name Mom and I used throughout the night. Dad became his natural ally, though he secretly rejoiced to have the teasing shifted away from himself, I am certain. The two huddled at the opposite end of the pontoon for most of the evening, tolerating our taunts.

Miles raised an eye to the container of grubs, then to the pole propped against the boat. He baited the hook and cast the line, and we cheered, "Feathers Fall Slowly fishes!" I like to call this his Babe Ruth pre-cast.

To be honest, I never realized that my computer-enabled husband knew such outdoorsy behavior. I am dully impressed with Feathers Fall Slowly, even though he has a smart mouth.

However, he seemed more interested in watching the fishies than catching them. Mom said, in her best Indian Chief voice (which obviously wasn't very good at all) "Our tribe is starving, but Feathers Fall Slowly is vegan."