A stranger paid part of my teenage son's restaurant bill

Adolescence leaves its mark on everyone, and for my son the marks have been particularly obvious. I’ve lost track of how many casts he’s had. He loves electric bikes, which have led to broken arms, a broken hand, a broken leg, a wide variety of cuts and grazes, and terrifyingly close calls.

He also got a job as a delivery rider for the local Domino’s, valued for his speed and his ability to be cheerful in the face of unhinged customers; once, after leaving a pizza on a doorstep when no one answered, a woman called him “the scum of the earth.” He said, “Have a nice evening,” and sped away.

He did a lot of shifts to save up enough to take a girl to a fancy restaurant. She is smart and kind, with a smile as wide as the moon, and they go to the same school. He booked them into Fratelli Paradiso in Potts Point—the nicest place he could think of—wore a collared shirt and cologne, and they sat in the dark, chic room with its small tables and mostly Italian waiters.

teenage son, restaurant bill, fratelli paradiso, potts point, domino's, delivery rider, electric bike, broken arm, first date, cologne