It’s 12:50am and I’m lying in bed with Noah while he tells me a story about how he once slept through the whole day. As he tells me this story, I drift off into thought about all the nights I have put him to bed. Of course it was always about 4-5 hours earlier than this, but tonight that just doesn’t matter. In fact, very little matters. I’m here with my son, in the house where I was born in the hills of nowhere. The unscreened windows are open, the night air is cool and there are least five species of crickets vying for first chair. I hug him close while he speaks in an endless stream of words. He pauses mid sentence and says, “Papa, can you please stop holding me, you’re making me kinda hot?” I couldn’t help but smile from the simplicity of his sincerity. There are not many perfect days in life, but this is one of them.
No comments:
Post a Comment