When He Was My Little Boy

There’s a man in my living room. He’s tall and a bit scruffy, but then he tilts his head and smiles.

I can see the boy he used to be.

I see the scar on his forehead- proof that running with sticks can be dangerous.

I see the twinkle in his eyes, and remember his very first joke “something something ELEPHANTS” and tears of laughter running down his face.

I carried this man on my shoulders, not willing to let go until I absolutely had to.

I remember chicken pox, because he’s older than the vaccine, and I remember turning his browned skin pink with calamine.

I see his dark curls; I still have the first one in my jewelry box, along with the first fairy-collected tooth.

A deep voice has replaced the cheerful chirp, as the tones of my father rumble from his chest.

LEGOS and playdough set aside for the moment, his creative hands now write plays, but the pride of creation is the same.

There’s a man in my living room, but I remember like yesterday, when he was my little boy.

~ Amber Hines, Birth and Postpartum Doula

Picture from Alexandre Dulaunoy