Jack slowly turned toward his father, his mouth half open. “Who do you think I got that line from?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re ten. You talk like that around your mother, and you’re likely to get your butt swatted.” Then under his breath he said, “And I’ll really get in trouble.”

“I learned it from you, Dad.”

Nash carried Charlie through the kitchen and as he passed, his ten-year-old mumbled, “I’m surrounded by traitors.” He continued into the living room and set Charlie down on the floor. Kneeling next to him, he grabbed some wet wipes and a fresh diaper from the bookshelf. Charlie lay on his back with his feet up making motorboat noises with his lips. Nash laughed at his little tuft of fine blond hair. Other than that, he was pretty much bald. Nash got everything ready and then went in. He unsnapped the inseam on the kid’s bib overalls and undid the old diaper. A heinous mix of rotten vegetables and diarrhea wafted out from under the freed diaper.

Nash turned his head away and snatched a breath of fresh air. “Now, this is torture.” He looked back down at Charlie and said, “What are they feeding you, little buddy? This is horrible.” Turning his head back toward the kitchen, he yelled, “Jack, get in here.”

A moment later the sandy haired, flat-topped ten-year-old appeared. “Yeah, Dad?”

Nash finished wiping all the crevices and then rolled the old diaper up tight and sealed it. “Throw this in the diaper pail.” He saw his son’s apprehension and added a “please” for good measure. His wife claimed the kids would be more open to helping out if everyone around the house was a little more polite. Nash countered that he’d gotten a lot of shit done in the Marine Corps, and so did his men, and no one ever said please to anyone. Maggie countered that he was no longer a Marine, nor were any of their kids.

Nash held out the softball-sized diaper.

The ten-year-old held his ground. “You’re three weeks behind on my allowance.”

“Yeah… well, you’re ten years behind on rent, so unless you want to end up sleeping in the diaper pail, get your butt moving.”

The kid lifted his Boston Celtics jersey over his nose and mouth and grabbed the diaper with two fingers like it was a hunk of radioactive waste. The smell still lingered, so Nash decided to give Charlie a bath. He carried him into the mudroom and started to fill the laundry tub. Jack came back in from his trip to the garage as his father was sticking the stopper in the bottom of the tub.

“How was school today?”

“Good… how’s your back?”

“Better, thank you.”

“And your melon.” Jack pointed at his own head.

Nash smiled. Jack was the family comedian. “The melon is okay today. Not great, but okay. Did you have a test today?”

“Quiz.”

“How’d you do?”

“Twenty-five out of twenty-five.”

“Congrats,” Nash said as he added some soap to the water. “Did you finish your homework?”

“When was the last time I didn’t do my homework the minute I got home from school? It’s your other son you need to worry about… the troglodyte.”

Nash gave his third child a hard stare. “That’s a big word for a ten-year-old.” He set Charlie in the tub. “Do you even know what it means?”

Jack started dancing around like an ape. With his jaw stuck out, he said, “Caveman.”

With a fatherly look of disapproval he grabbed a washcloth for the baby. Rory, the second child, struggled in school, but excelled in sports. He was thirteen and a half and on the verge of shaving. “Jack, let me give you a little advice. Don’t say that to your brother.”

“He calls me girlie boy all the time.”

“That’s what older brothers do.”

“I don’t do it to Charlie.”

Nash looked down at the one-year-old, who was happily splashing away and sucking on the soapy washcloth. Looking back at Jack, he said, “Go ahead. Call him a girlie boy, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Jack smiled, got close to the tub, and said, “Girlie boy. Charlie, you’re a little girlie boy.”

Charlie looked up at his older brother and let loose an ear-splitting squeal. They all started laughing and Jack tried it again. Nash reached out, put his arm around Jack, and kissed him on the top of the head. “I’ll talk to him, Jack, but you have to remember, Rory’s going through a tough time right now. School isn’t as easy for him as it is for you.”

“So… I’d rather be good at sports like him.”

“Buddy, you haven’t even hit puberty yet.”

“Rory was good at everything. Even before puberty.”

“We all have our God-given gifts, son. I was a good athlete, and right now I’d rather have your brains than my brawn.”

Just then, Maggie walked in the door, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. She looked lovingly at her husband with his arm around her third child and the soapy head of her baby just barely visible over the top edge of the laundry tub.

“Oh… isn’t this a nice picture? Look at Daddy and his little helper and my precious baby.”

Charlie had been preoccupied with something beneath the waterline, but when he heard his mother’s voice, his big brown eyes darted up to find the most important person in his world. A huge smile spread across his face and his little fingers reached out for the edge of the tub. He grabbed ahold of the lip and with considerable effort pulled himself to his full height of twenty-seven inches, and blurted out the word that he had so proudly yelled nearly twelve hours earlier while eating his breakfast.

Maggie froze, Nash tried not to laugh and Jack blurted out, “I swear I didn’t teach him that word.” Neither parent responded, so he added, “I bet it was Rory.”

“It was your mother,” Nash said with no lack of joy.

Maggie snapped at her husband, “Like you don’t walk around here swearing all the time.”

“Jack,” Nash said, “who swears more, me or Mommy?”

Jack looked back and forth between his two parents and then proved just how smart he was by darting past his father and into the kitchen. “No way am I getting in the middle of this,” he yelled over his shoulder.

Maggie defiantly folded her arms across her chest and stared at her husband. “I’m sure he’s heard you say it before.”

Nash nodded, dipped a hand into the soapy water, and came up with the washcloth. He started wiping down Charlie’s backside. “You do whatever you need to do to make yourself feel better about this one, princess.”

Charlie looked up at his mother. The happy look was gone, replaced by a look that mirrored the concerned look of his mother. In a much softer voice this time he muttered the word that was causing his mother’s distress. Nash couldn’t take it anymore and burst out laughing.

Maggie, trying to hold her neutral expression, said, “Michael, you have to ignore him.”

Charlie smiled at his dad and repeated the word two more times. Nash began laughing harder. Charlie reacted with equal vigor and started throwing the word out in quick repeated bursts. Nash completely lost it, and started howling.

“Stop it!” Maggie yelled at him. “All you’re doing is reinforcing his behavior.”

Nash tried to stop, but it only made it worse. Maggie, not thinking that any of it was funny, whacked her husband across the shoulder and yelled, “Goddammit, Michael, this isn’t funny.”

Charlie suddenly stopped saying the word. He looked up at his mother and then his father, the dark brown orbs that dominated his eyes growing seemingly larger. He zeroed in on his mother’s less-than-happy expression, and then the bottom lip started to tremble, the big brown eyes filled with tears, and then it all came pouring out.

“No, honey,” Maggie said in a soothing voice. “Mommy and Daddy love each other.”

“Most of the time,” Nash said under his breath.

Maggie craned her head around and shot him a look that caused him to cover his groin with his dry hand. Charlie was now wailing. Maggie stroked his cheek with the back of her hand and said, “Look… Mommy and Daddy love each other. Look up here, honey.”