On my way to work this morning I saw you. Not really. I saw a man and his little boy at the fence of a construction site. The little boy looked much like you did at that age. He was fascinated by the hole in the ground. What is it about little boys and big holes in the ground?
Mom said you used to go stand and look into the hole while the guys were working on the sewer. Of course, you wore nothing but a Donald Duck inner tube and a smile, but you were all about the hole in the ground. The smell of the sewer was just an added bonus.
You and I used to play with your Tonka trucks on that mound of dirt on the incline across the creek. I hated the dirt. I still do. But you. You loved the dirt. The more, the muddier, the better you liked it. Whoever wrote the poem about “snips and snails and puppy-dog tails” must have known you personally.
There are times when I would wish us back to those days, but I’m very Scarlett O’Hara in that respect. Never look back. It’ll tear at your heart until soon all you can do is look back.
I love you, bro. I always will.