Clark gently closed the back door behind him and sat down on the step, next to his son. The boy glanced up at him, then quickly turned away, suddenly fascintated by the growth rate of a small patch of grass.
"David," Clark slowly began. "About what you saw---I know you probably have some questions..."
"No, Dad," David said abruptly, his voice only slightly higher than normal. "I don't have any questions. We learned about that stuff in school. I know what was going on."
He was still staring at that patch of grass... Clark idly noted that if he wasn't careful, he might set fire to it. "David..."
His back stiffened.
Clark coughed. "David, I want you to know that this doesn't have to be an embarrasing and awkward---" He waved a hand in the air, as though reaching for a word. "---Thing. It's just proof that your mother and I love each other very much."
"But Dad..."
"Yeah?"
David finally turned to face him. "In the middle of the kitchen, in broad daylight???"
"Son," Clark put an arm around him. "I know it seems like a big deal now, but in time, you'll learn that there are worse things in life than walking in on your parents doing the Twist and the Mashed Potato to an old Beach Boys album."
