My son Murphy and his bff Oliver are having the Bromance of a lifetime. During the school year, the two five year olds were nearly inseparable. And now that summer is here, they play together almost every other day. But after being in such constant contact, Murphy and Oliver are now locked in a pitched battle for toy supremacy. They have come to the conclusion that whatever toy the other one has they must have as well. Their hostile desire to acquire toys rivals the cold war era arms race between the United States and the U.S.S.R. Every morning at breakfast in the Smith Family War Room, I receive a briefing on the current status of super hero action figures, Star Wars action figures, Clone War action figures, and sports equipment that Oliver has boldly acquired. There was even a mention of Yellow Cake. And it’s the exact same thing at Oliver’s house. The whole situation blows. So Oliver’s mom Ann and I stepped in and acted like the U.N. We needed to draw the toy race to a close before an insurgency of rouge toy pilfering began. An olive branch of peace (in the form of pizza and root beer) was extended. Our idea was to have the two boys dress up like super heroes and take them to Galactic Pizza, a place in Uptown where grown men serve pizza dressed in super hero costumes. We were going to unite them and once again bring balance back to the force.  

 I pulled up to Oliver’s house for the pick-up. Ann was standing in the front yard laughing hysterically.

“It’s like prom night for Oliver,” Ann said. “He’s changed outfits five times! He desperately wanted to know what Murphy would be wearing!”

Murphy climbed out of the car and sprinted across Oliver’s lawn. Murphy decided to dress as a character he named “The Iron Crusher” and his outfit consisted of a shiny king’s crown, a red cape, cowboy boots, black hockey gloves, SpongeBob sunglasses, and a Batman T-shirt. 

“Between the cape, cowboy boots, and crown, Murphy looks like he’s in the Gay pride parade,” I said to Ann.

Oliver immediately sized up Murphy’s costume, checking out every feature of his outfit. When he saw the cowboy boots, Oliver turned back into his house, and quickly one-upped Murphy by putting on Spider Man shoes. But our saving grace was the fact that both boys were wearing Batman t-shirts. 

In the car on the way to Galactic Pizza, the two boys decided my super hero nickname would be “Mr. Pee-Pee Pants.” There was no explanation given as to why my super power would be high octane urination. Then we took a seat at Galactic. Within seconds, two grown men in costumes appeared at the head of our table.

“I’m Captain Awesome!” The bearded man said. He was dressed in tights, hot pants, a cape, sunglasses, and a tight shirt that featured a giant red A on the front.

“And I’m The Rocket!” The man with thick sideburns yelled. He smacked his hands together to simulate a launch.

For the first time in months, the two rabble rousing five year olds sat silent. They had put their toy race on hold for the moment and were unified in the thought that Galactic Pizza just might be the craziest thing they’d ever seen.

And for that, I’d like to raise a toast to grown men who deliver pizza in costumes.