Like No Other Son
“My A . . .” is what you called yourself as a baby. You’ve always known who you were. Big brother "J" would go left, you would go right. "J" would go right; you would go left, because you knew you were "A . . ."! In the middle of adventures you were the shepherd-brother-hero. You kept an eye on little sister and held her when she cried, you showed little brother how to stick Lego’s together, and you gave "J" some great game ideas – all at the same time. I’m fishing around in my head tonight to find words, and because I’ve been scrutinizing words most of the day – new ones aren’t coming to me easily. (I’m in the middle of a proofing project.) What I would really like is to look into your eyes, again; and try to decide what color they are, again. I’d like to wrap my arm around your neck, and tell you “happy birthday”. I would love to watch you play with your son and adore your wife. Instead I am sitting here late at night trying to pull up some wor