new york city kid in arkansas
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My dad, who has known me my whole life but remembers me best around age 16, thinks of me as a passionate, temperamental person who sleeps till noon in a chaotic and disorganized bedroom full of 1950s posters. It’s hard for him to picture me as what he calls “domesticated” with a full-time job, a husband, a child and a mortgage. He gets fits of giggles if I say anything too grown-up sounding at the end of a phone call, like for instance: “I should probably start cooking dinner.” This can push my many buttons, as I’m in fact middle aged and basically keep three humans alive each day, but now I’m starting to understand.

I’ve got Huck stuck around age ten.

I like to brag that we haven’t really seen signs of the terrible thirteens, or whatever we’re supposed to call them. Huck is pretty sweet, sensitive, still very dependent on us, a constant conversationalist, quite cuddle-obsessed. I’ve even hinted that maybe I was ready for him to become moody and withdrawn. But then I remembered that this summer when we went to the pool, he often asked to stay home. When we took him to the Pacific Ocean, he didn’t even put on his swim suit. He begs us to go on dog walks without him. “But you have so much fun at the pool,” I say. “You’ve always loved the beach!” I exclaim. “You enjoy fresh air and exercise!” I shout.

No, I don’t. Not anymore. I never did!

My version of Huck belongs in the same place as my dad’s version of me; sweetly up against our hearts as we get older and older. And I wish I could sleep till noon.

2 comments

Pappy T

August 30th, 2018

It’s actually pretty nice being stuck sweetly up against your heart… I mean, for me.

Aunt Jeni

September 1st, 2018

Oh I just wish Dad kept a blog back then. I mean Huck can look back and have a of these wonderful memories! He will always be the sweet baby with big eyes in NYC. XOXO

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