There are a couple of fellas I want you to meet in case you haven't been properly introduced.
My boy Sam turns 8 today. My oldest son. He's always been my favorite. He was my first baby, you know.
I have several names for him: Silly Sam, Silly Man, Sweet Boy, Handsome, Handsome Boy.
This can be a problem when I stand in the produce section amid adult male strangers and say, "Hey, Handsome, what kind of salad should we get?" It's happened.
I'll give you a moment. ... 'K, back to my son.
He's precious, priceless, sweet as honey wine. I get lost in his dimples, and his eyes sparkle like the stars. How many little kids do you know who play the accordion by ear without even looking? He has probably seventy-five piano melodies in his repertoire without using a single sheet of music. And he did all that a couple years ago. Brilliant? Yeah, I think so. We share the same smile, he and I.
He's a lot like me. How can I not love that?
Then there's his little brother, Dave. My youngest son. He's always been my favorite. Being the baby and all.
You can call him anything you want. Just don't call him "little." Some of my fav's are: Dave-o, Silly Boy, Sweet Boy, Handsome, Handsome Boy.
He has a million faces. Each one of them funny in their own right. He's been articulate nearly as long as he could talk. He's whip smart. He doesn't miss a thing. He has the most poignant observations I've ever heard from a kid. He has a new superhero/occupational persona every day. With every kiss, he gives an endearing hug.
He's just like his daddy. What's not to love?
I think I'll keep 'em.
Happy birthday, Silly Man. Mama loves you.
link: crosby, stills & nash
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