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Dear son, I hope you call

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Right now, you’re mine. All thirty-five pounds and three feet of you.

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You like to dance with me in the kitchen and sing along to country music. Even when you don’t know the words. I know Superman is your favorite but that Daddy is your hero. You like your waffles extra crispy and insist on doing everything your way. And sometimes, when you can’t find me in a crowd, you call out my name.

Just to know I’m watching.

Just to know I’m there.

But it won’t always be like this. One day, I won’t know you like I do now. Your hand won’t fit so perfectly in mine and your heart will belong to someone else. You’ll be out there in the world alone. Without me to dance with you in the kitchen. Without my help to sing the words.

And that’s OK.

But, son— I hope you call.

When you get the job. When you land the deal.

When you meet the girl. When you fall in love.

When you ask her to marry you. And when she says yes.

When you buy the house. Then make it a home.

When you see the ultrasound. And hear the heartbeat.

Because I will be there. Just like before. When you used to call out my name.

Just to know I was watching.

Just to know I was there.

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