Where I think of the number five
My son is five years old today.
Heck, I still have issues coming to terms with the fact that I’m a parent (yeah, yeah, I know, you’re at “Daddy Runs a Lot,” you expect the dude creating content to be a parent, but, well, being a parent means that I’m supposed to be responsible & shit, and I feel anything but responsible, often), nevermind the parent to a Five Year Old. But, that’s what today brings.
Five fingers, five golden rings, Johnny Number 5 is alive1, Johnny Bench & Joe DiMaggio, Abraham Lincoln’s face, James Monroe, V.
It really seems like it’s been an impossibly long time . . . but, then again, it seems like just yesterday that we got “the call”. They always talk about tragic events in bringing about the mundane details of any given day . . . but I think I can list what happened on November 4, 2009 better than I can recall the moments of September 11, 2003. The phone calls of “it might be today,” to the phone calls to “it’s time.” Leaving the office. My secretary calling, asking if she should put anything in my out-of-office message, my leaving the tailgate of my truck open & my “it might take awhile for paperwork to clear” suitcase falling out (and the kind fellow who flashed his high beams, made me pull-over, and delivered what I surely would have missed), seemingly countless phone calls from the social worker as we drove through the rural roads of Delaware, feeling more nervous than I ever have prior to a date or performance as we walked up to the hospital room, entering and hearing “there are your parents,” giving him his first bottle (he was SO VERY TINY), wondering what color his eyes might be (he didn’t really open his eyes for weeks after being born), counting his fingers and toes, holding him as I watched the final outs of the 2009 World Series (a Yankee win over the Phillies), a late night trip to Friendly’s, because that was the only place would could find that was open and serving food. I can recall all of that, as if it happened this morning.
Heck, I can recall all of that better than I can recall events of this actual morning.
To my video-game-playing, ninja-class-taking, silly, goofy, star-wars-loving, ice-cream-addicted son, I love you. Happy Birthday.