It's never been easy to imagine myself as a boy, free of adult concerns and content with the simple joys of a favorite toy, or the simple rythym that makes little feet dance to the tune of nursery rhymes.
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Something changed, I can see the image of my younger self in his light brown eyes, and the crooked grin that appears when Daddy's home for lunch. It doesn't matter that my eyes are green.
Adulthood strips the magic from the world in small pieces, until even blue skies have a certain oppresive weight that can only be measured in words like rent and responsibility.
Any father can tell you that the magic of children is more subtle, more arcane and mysterious than flights of fancy of your own boyhood. It's in the sudden need for tears at the moment they first enter the world, it's the spell of watching clumsy first steps that to a father's eye are full of wonder and grace.
Consider these words, my only son when the years have made communication more awkward and complex, that in your youth, before you could either understand my words or owned any words of your own, that you with chubby hands and crooked smiles reinvented magic before my very eyes.
Smile if you're stupid,
laugh if you understand.