Dawson started his life 5 years ago in an epic way, scary and badass. I spent that morning terrified for something that was out of my control entirely, but that I could somehow still mess up. Little Dawson had my back, though; he came out of his mother and let the world know he was here, he was ready, and he was mad. All my fears went away when I heard him for the first time. Our tiny guy had huge ambition.
I told Dawson the story as I drove him to school on his 5th birthday; he listened silently and paid attention. That day five years ago, as a memory, is epic; I can remember how I felt. I was scared out of my mind. But upon seeing him for the first time, I wasn't afraid anymore. The doctors would try to scare us but they couldn't.
This past 12 months, Dawson got a little brother and had to wait 366 days for his birthday, then another 3 for his big party. I look at my 5 year old boy now and realize that for me, this year will bring uncharted territory; my dad died when I was 5. I remember my 5th birthday. My dad made me an epic lego jet. My dad woke me up before the sun was up to build that lego set on the floor in my grandpa's kitchen.
Goddamned beautiful thing. How a lineage, how blood goes on, how it rests, how it impassions, how sometimes it rages or dies--shit, you write life once, as you have here, its for always. Or until the men of tomorrow stop knowing how to read it.
ReplyDeleteThe leggings shadow the cold winter in warm light. The female spirit hovers with her haunches, making complete the occasional rest after the hunt.
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