The way you’ve started asking if I’ve slept well—if I “Sleep good, daddy?”—even while my eyes are red, as I slump through the bathroom hardly awake and hardly verbal;

The way you ask, at the oddest times, if I’m happy, if your mother is happy, with that song in your voice that regardless of our feelings turn us to joy;

The way you roll your eyes as you grin and ask for something by not asking for it but saying something about it, and when we don’t cooperate, you actually ask for it;

The way you say “No, not today” when asked if you’d like to take a phone call from some relative;

The way you jump up and down and say, “Cookieeeees” in the aisle at Trader Joes until the store worker joins and says that he feels exactly that way too;

The way you introduce yourself to people on the street, like a little politician, and how a few of them have peeled off a dollar or a quarter the way they did when I was boy;

The way you knock your guitar as you play it at home or at church, becoming a maestro, and building the world around you by making something beautiful;

These ways are yours, and they are, like you, a great gift to me and your mother.

Last night, next to your mother, across from me and your grandmother, you ate joloff rice and cabbage and pinched the red snapper from my plate, telling me to avoid the bones, asking me if the fish was scary, holding it in your fingers and complaining that it was too hot.  You have built a reputation with Ms. B at Mabovi; she did not disappoint, bringing you fruit as a personal dessert, topped with sliced lemon cake and blueberry cake, and you two traded hugs and cheek kisses I imagined you in Ghana, her homeland, and wondered if you would enjoy it as much as you had another meal in one of our favorites.

Make a list of people, places, and things you’re grateful for, giving yourself time, room, and imagination for that list, and I’m convinced you’ll find yourself writing heavier things, more memorable but easily forgotten places, and more significant people than those long, dreaded names which burden you.

I haven’t written about the boy in a while.  Here’s a selective summary of the acts and gestures I’m recalling from the last 7 days:

• Bryce took his first plane trip.  We ended up flying on four planes, to and from Raleigh and to and from Little Rock, and the boy did okay—mostly.

• Bryce played with a dog, ran up and down stairs carrying everything from luggage to glasses and toys—by himself—and basically slept half the time he’s used to, which, for the record, made me crazy.

• He got a lot of love in the form of hugs and kisses from Grammie Joseph, from his Grandma, his uncles, and too many relatives to name.  I hope this week stands up in his memory as full of nothing but long love and tight embraces.

• He proved that Thomas is still more popular than I am, as Bryce played with Thomas, talked to Thomas, and introduced everybody he met to (something about) Thomas.  I’ve not heard another person’s name in a week more than I’ve heard Thomas’s name.

• Bryce ran away from his mother and a group of family members outside of a restaurant, while I was off getting the car, along the side of a building, surrounded by mostly parked cars, until a nephew I just met ran after to catch him.  Ask Bryce if you want to know how I responded…

• Bryce ran away inside a restaurant one day after the above while I, again, was off to get the car.  Ask Bryce how his mommy responded…

• He continued his fascination with fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances.  Those words and their obvious siren sounds were the soundtracks of our conversations.

• Bryce maintained his favorite word, “No,” and substituted it only for his favorite response, “Why?” until I came up with my own favorite responses to his why: Who, What, Where, When, How—in no particular order, which silenced him.

• Bryce played drums on a table, with straws for sticks, at B.B. King’s restaurant on Beale Street and was called out by the band, a comment he paid no attention to.  He was in it for the music alone.

• He went off when Dawn turned off the Thomas video and couldn’t understand or even hear my explanation about the FAA and its rules for landings.  He stopped crying after the whole plane woke to his screaming, “Thomas, I want my Thomas,” and after his mom kept comforting him, while his aunt was handing me a picture book and after his grandma sent over a lollipop tree.

• Bryce said goodbye to Pawpaw when I picked him up, explained in two sentences what he was about to see in my father’s stiff remains, and said he too wanted to be with Jesus

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.  Take a look at the review.  Thank you for reading this blog and commenting if you have.  I hope you continue to participate next year.  Happy New Year.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 3,200 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 5 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.  Thank you for reading it, commenting if you have, and I hope you’ll continue to visit next year.  Happy New Year.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 6,000 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 10 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.