Hello, little one. I had a dream about you just the other night, if you’d like to hear about it.

Firstly, little one, let me apologize to you, for I do, indeed, have some apologizing to do. And then we’ll get to the dream all well and timely, we will.

I haven’t seen you in many years, I know that. I know that you know  that, as well. I’ll bet you can’t even believe that I used to be your height, can you? Surely you’ll grow to be larger than I. But, once, long ago, you were sleeping in a tiny bed, and I used to watch you twitch your little feet, and I’d pat you on your little head. Your hair was blond and messy, like pasta, actually. I guess . . . well, I guess it still is, isn’t it!

You haven’t forgotten that your mommy loves you, have you, little one? I certainly hope not! Well, she’s not around so much, these days,  but don’t you think for one second that her absence has anything to do with you. You’ve been a good one, haven’t you? I’m sure — no, I know – that if your mommy was here with us right now, she’d say the same thing. I wouldn’t even have to open my mouth. I’d just nod and agree with her. We’d look at each other, and we’d nod again. But, she’s not here, is she, little one? Now, don’t give me that face. I still have a dream to tell you about, remember?

So, you were a littler one, once, if you can believe it. You looked like a little toy, sleeping there in that little bed. A lot of people said, “He’s going to have back problems, lying on it all the time.” But, you don’t have any back problems. You’re just a little boy. All of that sleeping, well . . . you must have been storing up all of that energy, I’m sure. April tells me that you’re always running around the house, and you never wear a shirt. She says it’s because you want everyone to see how big your muscles are. Is that true, little one?

You know, that sounds like something you’d do. See, I knew you before you could even speak a single word. Everyone was so happy, just because you existed as a little baby boy. They would always rub your little head, and your blond hair just never had a chance, did it? It sticks up in the back, still, and it seems like you’ve had the same haircut for as long as I can remember. Lord, it’s as if you were born with that haircut, little one.

The dream, yes — we’ll get to it! Really!

I’ll bet you don’t remember when you lived at my house, do you? You did, you know — you sure did. You’d wake me up on Saturday mornings, and after having worked all night, I would be quite tired. That didn’t stop you, did it, little one? You’d beg and you’d beg for me to wake up and see and play with you, but I didn’t do that so much, did I? Here: I’m sorry, really. I apologize. I was just so sleepy back then. I wasn’t very happy, either, little one. You’ve had it harder than me, haven’t you? And yet you’re still the happy little boy with the messy blond hair. No, no — really, I owe you an apology.

I haven’t forgotten about the cake you tried to surprise me with on my birthday. You hid under the table, but I saw you the entire time. I walked up the stairs, and — “Surprise!” I’m sure you’d heard about surprise birthday parties before, hadn’t you? And you thought, “I’m going to do something really special.” I never thanked you for that. You were just a happy little one, hiding under the table, waiting to hand me a slice of cake. I didn’t tell you this, but I don’t necessarily like cake, but I could tell that you wanted me to eat it, and I wasn’t about to disappoint you. I think, you know, now that you’re a little older, it’s okay if I tell you that. To be honest, yes, it was a wonderful cake, as far as they go. I really did eat all of it, yes, I promise you that. I’m sorry if I could have been happier about that cake. See, I don’t like my own birthday so much; it’s hard for me to be happy on that day. Maybe you’ll feel the same way, some day. It’s my least favorite day of the whole year, but you tried to make it better, didn’t you, little one?

Well, you’re all grown up now, aren’t you, little one? Oh? Not yet? But you want to be. Well, let me tell you — I don’t want you growing up just yet, you see. You stay a little one a little longer, promise? If you run around shirtless with messy blond hair, people won’t like you so much. Why don’t you just take it slow, and run about like you do — messy hair and all — while you still can? No, you won’t ever grow out of those little blue eyes, and lord help us all, we don’t want those little blue eyes to go away, either.

You’ve got to go, now, yes. I understand. Well, I’ll see you in another five years, I’m sure. You’ll be a young man, then, won’t you? No, no — you’ll always be my little one.

It’s okay, really. I’ll tell you about that dream some other time.