Time Flies

His father smiled.

"What?" the son asked.

"You look good with that cigar in your mouth. A little too good."

"Oh." He tried to hide his smile but couldn't.

"No, it's OK, it's OK," his father told him, "it's good. Just don't tell your mother." He promised not to. "And don't make a habit out of it." He promised that, too.

There was something that had been on his mind for years.

"Do you remember," he asked his father, "when I was nine, and we were up north. We were at the end of the dock, and you asked if I wanted to try it?"

His father chuckled. "No. Sounds like something I'd do though."

"I wanted to, but I was so nervous that you asked me, so I just said, 'No,' and ran back to the cabin." They shared a laugh. His father closed his smiling mouth tightly.

"Time flies."

He watched his son try again to blow a smoke ring. The boy was getting better.

"It sure does."