For so many reasons.
One of the best for me is that my middle son, Duff, decamps from his bolthole in warm, beautiful, sea-surrounded Courtenay, BC and flies over the mountains to visit us in snowy, land-locked Edmonton, Alberta.
For two precious weeks, we get to visit and play ‘catch-up’.
I love his stories.
This is his most precious...
Middle son’s fondest wish was to be a Dad.
For a short, wonderful while, he was.
To a sweet little five-year old girl whose mother he was dating.
This is his fondest memory…
Duffy was sitting on the couch—feet up on the coffee table, happily absorbed in a video game.
His daughter was snuggled close, watching him and providing a running commentary.
Nature called.
He got up to answer it.
When he came back, his little girl was ‘hidden’.
She had inserted her small self between the rear of the couch and the couch cushions.
In his spot.
Muffled giggles could be heard.
Middle Son wondered aloud, “Well I wonder where Kit could be? I don’t see her anywhere!”
More giggles.
He sat down. “My, this is one lumpy couch. I don’t remember it being this lumpy!”
He wriggled his back against the cushions.
More giggles.
“Oh, well. I guess I’ll just have to live with it.” More wriggling.
And giggling.
Finally a small face appeared. “Dad!”
“Oh, there you are, Kit. I thought I just had a lumpy couch. Hey! You’re in my spot!”
Pure giggles as only a five-year-old-whose-gotten-away-with-something can produce.
It’s a small memory.
Like the little girl who gave it to him.
But most precious.
