A white, slightly dented white car in the driveway means Philip is under roof. A respectable Dodge with just a hint of the rakish to its lines angled into the asphalted slot where a big old tree once stood means Lucas is home. While my pickup languishes in the airport Economy Lot (long story, one for another day), the presence of either of these Sanders-family chariots mean that Son Christopher is also within the walls of this old house.
All of this good.
As I return from my bike ride on a hot Sunday afternoon, I see that the LAN party has ended. The cars of the LAN partiers have returned to their erstwhile nest.
In the circles that frequent this old house, the ‘LAN party’ is a product of Costa Rica days. A pack of digital-native sons developed the multi-day/night computer-game frenzy that goes under this moniker. They shut themselves in the chosen home, connect into a Local Area Network (thus ‘LAN’), take vows of chastity against the allure of sleep and her un-mannish siren song, and stock up on Mountain Dew. Then the games begin!
As a marginal observer of this quasi-tradition, I note that the banter which follows upon a LAN Party bears all the marks of the male bonding that occurs in my non-digitally-native world in the wake of a fishing trip or a two-day stint at, say, Wrigley Field.
Christopher, Lucas, and Philip pause to handle a few Dad-assigned tasks (could you bring those two book-cases up from the basement?) and—sweetly—to prepare sloppy joes for the four of us.
Rhodesian Ridgeback four-legger Rosie flops down beside our feet as we eat, quietly reveling in all the human fellowship.
‘Dad’, Son Chris, queries as eight hands move to clean up plates, cups, silverware … ‘Sam and Dave (more Costa Rican third-culture kid connections might come by for a day or two. Would it be all right if they stayed here?’
It all makes for an uncommonly decent Sunday afternoon in this old house.
Canter Bridge 
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