Friday Afternoons with David

I like his new swagger. Kindergarten is agreeing with him and he's just finished a full and satisfying day of it. We're heading to Muddy's Cafe on Valencia, talking of cabbages and kings, me firing my usual barrage:
"What was your favorite thing today?"
"Did you eat all your lunch?"
"Did you write in your journal?"
Then, halfway to Muddy's, I tell him I can't pick him up early on Fridays as we'd planned. Too many meetings at work. But maybe I can still do it once in awhile.
He stops in his tracks. No more swagger, now he slumps and starts to cry. To my surprise, so do I.
I see now how much those Friday afternoons mean to him--and to me. Our "daddy and Magoo times" when we eat chocolate chip cookies at Muddy's, ride bikes in Golden Gate Park, read a few stories at the library, or, if he's tired, maybe just play a few board games at home.
But, in my case, it's not just the loss of Friday afternoons with my kid that brings the tears. I also find myself asking what kind of dad--no, what kind of person--am I becoming.