There's a book I read when I was younger that I loved. It was called Danny the Champion of the World. It was about a boy named Danny, shockingly enough, who eventually became the champion peasant-poacher in the world. In retrospect, it has a very bad moral. It's like the Grease of children's books.
I didn't care when I was little. I loved Danny, mostly because he was the straight version of me. His mother died when he was young, and he was raised by his father. His father was a mechanic, so Danny was pretty much raised in a garage. The only significant differences were A) Danny poached pheasants, B) he lived in England, and C) his dad talked a lot.
My favorite scene in the book was when Danny's father made him this special meal of beans, bread, and (I think) sausages. It made me think of tapioca pudding.
Tapioca pudding was my mom's favorite dessert, and she insisted on having a bowl whenever anyone wanted some. Before she died, if I had a bad day I would go to my dad, before she got home. We would sneak a bowl of pudding, with paper bowls and plastic spoons so she wouldn't see the dirty dishes. It wasn't a big thing, but it always made me feel better.
I miss having that closeness with my dad. I miss working in the garage, and eating tapioca pudding. Every once in a while I pick some up at the supermarket, but it's not the same. We use regular bowls. Maybe I can never get that back.
But my dad hugs me tighter, and I'm glad I came out, because maybe we can get some of it back. I hug him and close my eyes, and for a moment I am champion of the world.