The cookout has gotten lively with the addition of the “Cha Cha Slide” playing from the speaker, and you're getting pretty tired of talking about the weather with suburban white parents. So what if lately it's been awfully windy?

You’ve retreated to a safe spot near the food tables, munching away at a hot dog, when one of the dads (you can tell he's a dad, he's oozing dad energy from every pore) walks up to you, politely tipping his hat. You recognize him as your new neighbor.

"Pardon the interruption." He says with a gentle smile. "But have you seen my son around? I think he may have wandered off." “I think I saw him going back to your house. The one with the boxes in the front yard, no?” You reply, pointing at the property in question. Sure enough, his son passes by one of the windows. Mystery solved.

“Ah. Well, good to know. He was probably just tired, I’ll just tell him to let me know next time.” He smiles. Almost unconsciously, he wipes a bit of ketchup from your face with his thumb, before laughing heartily. “I’m so sorry. Force of habit.” He apologizes, producing a napkin from his pocket.