My nine year boy
After macaroni cheese, cake, ice cream, a little lego time, Isaac and I sat and talked through the last nine years. The day he was born, coming into the world with a concise little "Meh." His first year of constant grins and giggles. The second year, when he met his best friend Linden. The third year, spent horizontal on the floor scooting trains, trucks, and cars around. Four years old when he started school and met his first teacher, Carrie, who he will love forever. The 5th year party with the Spider Man bounce house -- how we laughed! Six-year-old Isaac with his jokes and gags (I didn't get them but they were always funny). Seven years is when he moved to Lower El and started eating vegetables (finally!). When he was eight he became a chicken whisperer, certifiable.
Then Isaac asked me to sing all of the songs I used to sing. We did If-I-Were-A-Gorilla and A-You're-Adorable and There-Once-Was a-Farmer and Oh-Lord-Won't-You-Buy-Me. It was fun.
But when I tucked Isaac in bed, I noticed the turned down corners of his mouth and the little quivery thing that his cheeks do when he's trying not to cry.
"You sad buddy?"
"Well, no."
"Really."
"I guess."
"What made you sad?"
"Just talking about oldy days."
That's what he said. Just talking about the oldy days. There were some tears. And we talked about bittersweetness and nostalgia and how we all feel that way some of the time. Especially on birthdays.
I know I do.
