Memories unfrozen in pizza

Today is my nephew Max’s birthday. He’s 12. It’s crazy because I remember when he turned four like it was yesterday. Despite all the familial heaviness we had a lot of fun at his birthday party last night. This is quite a testament to our resilience, because before the party began we spent a lot of time talking about health care directives and how Mom has left instructions for the divvying up for her stuff.

But once the Tibbles arrived with their birthday exuberance and pro-Vikings trash talk (which is really quite adorable because that can’t swear or really think of good insults so the worst things they can think of to say about the Green Bay Packers is how they poop in their pants), we set that all aside.

For his birthday meal Max chose Heggies Pizza, which is a delicious brand of frozen pizza we used to serve at the bowling alley. I never thought I’d ever miss Heggies. In fact, towards the end there I actually turned my nose up at the Heggies. Familiarity had bred contempt.

Now, after last night, it’s all I want to eat. It tastes like bowling alley to me, and reminded me of the family we used to be before the child protection call and my dad’s estrangement. The only thing missing was a thick, blue curtain of cigarette smoke and someone asking me for a Bud Light the minute I shoved half a slice in my mouth.

Who would have thought a slice of frozen pizza could hold so much?

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