Dear Spike:
I vaguely remember seven.
Second grade. Mrs. Trecek. Flashlights in a blackout. Book fair.
Jimmy Harrell. Mini golf.
Ronald Reagan. Pete Rose. Star Wars. The Last Electric Knight. My first fight.
Soccer. Baseball. Church choir.
We Are the World. Johnny Bench's Baseball Bunch.
Seven was good and bad, but mostly good. It was happy and sad, but mostly happy. It was childhood — but with a tiny bit of recognition that something more than childhood existed out there.
Now you are seven. And this year will be good and bad, but mostly good. It will be happy and sad, but mostly happy. And it will come, I'm willing to bet, with a tiny bit of recognition that you will not be seven forever.
Which is, I think, what makes seven so special.
Love,
dad
I vaguely remember seven.
Second grade. Mrs. Trecek. Flashlights in a blackout. Book fair.
Jimmy Harrell. Mini golf.
Ronald Reagan. Pete Rose. Star Wars. The Last Electric Knight. My first fight.
Soccer. Baseball. Church choir.
We Are the World. Johnny Bench's Baseball Bunch.
Seven was good and bad, but mostly good. It was happy and sad, but mostly happy. It was childhood — but with a tiny bit of recognition that something more than childhood existed out there.
Now you are seven. And this year will be good and bad, but mostly good. It will be happy and sad, but mostly happy. And it will come, I'm willing to bet, with a tiny bit of recognition that you will not be seven forever.
Which is, I think, what makes seven so special.
Love,
dad
