Dad straightened himself out and studied his handiwork. Satisfied, he sat back down. They started talking about the Knicks and the recent Kevin Costner movie and the new Nelson DeMille book. They put away the toolbox. They had some iced tea. They lounged side by side in matching molded-resin chaises. An hour passed. They fell into a comfortable silence. Myron fingered the condensation on his glass. He could hear his father's breathing, moderately wheezy. Dusk had settled in, bruising the sky purple, the trees going a burnt orange.

Myron closed his eyes and said, "I got a hypothetical for you."

"Oh?"

"What would you do if you found out you weren't my real father?"

Dad's eyebrows went skyward. "You trying to tell me something?"

"Just a hypothetical. Suppose you found out right now that I wasn't your biological son. How would you react?"

"Depends," Dad said.

"On?"

"How you reacted."

"It wouldn't make a difference to me," Myron said.

Dad smiled.

"What?" Myron said.

"Easy for both of us to say it wouldn't matter. But news like that is a bombshell. You can't predict what someone will do when a bomb lands. When I was in Korea--" Dad stopped, Myron sat up. "Well, you never knew how someone would react..." His voice tailed off. He coughed into his fist and then started up again. "Guys you were sure would be heroes completely lost it--and vice versa. That's why you can't ask stuff like this as a hypothetical."

Myron looked at his father. His father kept his eyes on the grass, taking another deep sip. "You never talk about Korea," Myron said.

"I do," Dad said.

"Not with me."

"No, not with you."

"Why not?"

"It's what I fought for. So we wouldn't have to talk about it."

It didn't make sense and Myron understood.

"There a reason you raised this particular hypothetical?" Dad asked.

"No."

Dad nodded. He knew it was a lie, but he wouldn't push it. They settled back and watched the familiar surroundings.

"Tai chi isn't so bad," Myron said. "It's a martial art. Like tae kwon do. I've been thinking of taking it up myself."

Dad took another sip. Myron sneaked a glance. Something on his father's face began to quiver. Was Dad indeed getting smaller, more fragile--or was it like the backyard and safety, again the shifting perception of a child turned adult?

"Dad...?"

"Let's go inside," his father said, standing. "We stay out much longer, one of us is going to get misty and say, 'Wanna play catch?' "

Myron bit off a laugh and followed him inside. Mom came home not long after that, lugging two bags of food as though they were stone tablets. "Everybody hungry?" she called out.

"Starving," Dad said. "I'm so hungry I could eat a vegetarian."

"Very funny, Al."

"Or even your cooking..."

"Ha-ha," Mom said.

"... though I'd prefer the vegetarian."