A 13-year-old child stands on the threshold of adulthood. In many cultures, rites of passage are observed, be it confirmation, bar mitzvah or an aboriginal walkabout.

To mark this historic day in my son Hans' life, we engaged in an ancient family ritual involving meaningful gifts and a magnificent cake.

My wife and I wanted a transitional event to mark the advent of increasing privileges and responsibilities. That's how we found ourselves watching our baby boy floating in thin air as he went indoor "sky diving" at SkyVenture in Lone Tree.

I liked the flying symbolism, and Hans looked quite grown-up in his jumpsuit. He enjoyed the experience but said, "It's harder to do than it looks." That sounds like life to me.

A feast was in order, but we couldn't use the event to introduce him to "adult" dining. The son-of-a-critic already enjoys foie gras, escargot, and flying fish roe and raw quail egg sushi. He'll need a great career to support that palate.

We chose a venue where he could wallow in the taste of youth, which is how I ended up at the P.B. Loco Cafe franchise in Aurora's Southlands mall.

"Only in America," I said to an Indian couple standing nearby. Everything on the menu contains one of 13 flavors of peanut butter, ranging from Jungle Banana to Sun-Dried Tomato.

The boy opted for a grilled sandwich of white chocolate PB and marshmallow whip on white bread. My wife, Betsy, sensibly picked the PB sampler with celery, carrots, apples and pretzels. The apples had brown spots.

Hans liked his sweet treat, but wasn't wowed. It required a leap of faith, but he bit into The Wacko, my curry peanut butter sandwich with pickles, coconut and potato chips.

"That's pretty good," he said.

Thirteen years into the journey, I swelled with patriarchal pride. He's maturing quite nicely, thank you.