It wasn’t me, as much as I want to pretend it is.
It wasn’t me, as much as I want to pretend it is.
This story begins with me holding a grown-up’s hand.
I’m his father. I view him through the rosiest glasses of all.
Words only have power if you let them. When they were pointed at me, I let them.
My boy is happy. He expresses it every day.
The moment we stepped outside, he lost it.
This year, it’s Christmas for everyone.
What followed was a wonderful hour inside of a winter wonderland.
I want him to turn heads for all the right reasons.
Though the years, I’ve gone back and forth in my answer.
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