Words from a Son

Seth turns eight this week. What? I’m pretty sure it was only this past summer that Seth was sneaking out of the house, leaving a trail of shirt and training underpants so he could dance in the front yard sprinkler, not a stitch of clothes to be found on the young buck. That was more like five years ago, I guess. Seth is still dancing. However, he usually keeps his clothes on. Usually.

Seth is all heart. His motto is why have a little drama when you can have a lot? Unlike other not-to-be-named members of our family that I’m married to, I can never remember those Meyer’s-Briggs profiles or Enneagram dealies, but whichever ones describe the person who loves hard and plays hard and laughs hard and wants to dive headlong into every possibility of beauty, joy and delight – that’s Seth.

Sunday night, as I was putting Seth to bed, he said the words every dad hopes one day he might hear. Dad, Seth said, when I grow up, I want to be like you. I might not hear those words again, so I’m going to savor them.

It’s Seth’s birthday, but in truth Seth-style, he’s the one giving the gifts.

Seth and one of his 50bujillion hermit crabs

the resting place of one of the crabs that didn’t make it

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