As I poured out that Coke, I watched Chris and Laura, mouths open, eyes widening. Here was crazy Uncle Randy completely rejecting adult rules. I ended up being so glad I'd spilled that soda. Because later in the weekend, little Chris got the flu and threw up all over the backseat. He didn't feel guilty. He was relieved; he had already watched me christen the car. He knew it would be OK. Whenever the kids were with me, we had just two rules: 1) No whining. 2) Whatever we do together, don't tell Mom. Not telling Mom made everything we did into a pirate adventure. Even the mundane could feel magical. On most weekends, Chris and Laura would hang out at my apartment and I'd take them to Chunk E. Cheese, or we'd head out for a hike or visit a museum. On special weekends, we'd stay in a hotel with a pool. The three of us liked making pancakes together. My father had always asked: "Why do pancakes need to be round?" I'd ask the same question. And so we were always making weirdly shaped animal pancakes. There's a sloppiness to that medium that I like, because every animal pancake you make is an unintentional Rorschach test. Christ and Laura would say, "This isn't the shape of the animal I wanted." But that allowed us to look at the pancake as it was, and imagine what animal it might be.