We kissed his little brother good night,
ate our chicken sticks and juice,
and practiced writing our name…along with drawing jets, rocket-ships, and volnados (mix between a volcano and tornado)
Last night I camped out with a cowboy, a Power Ranger, and Captain America, all perfectly wrapped up in one little four year old boy’s body.
We pitched the tiny red tent in the darkened living room, my head resting on a Thomas the Train pillow as the lower half of my body was exposed to the harsh winds of a ceiling fan. An assortment of monster trucks and race cars protected the perimeter. We shot a snake and a werewolf with a bubble blowing handgun.
Evenings like this go too fast. This freckle faced, mama’s brown eyes, bundle of wonder will be a pimple faced hairy teen tomorrow. The next day he’ll be a dashing young man, moving out and moving on to his own harrowing journey of limitless possibilities.
A journey into a real world that needs a real hero to rise up and conquer real werewolves and snakes, especially those that lie latent within.
Maybe one day a nurse will hand him his own beautiful crying child, wet and wrapped in hospital blankets; and at that moment he’ll be altogether convinced of his own limits as a man and father, and altogether grateful for a heavenly Father that cares for this child infinitely more than he ever could.
Meanwhile, I’ll continue to thank a great Father who inexplicably continues to give the gift of fatherhood to fallen men like me.