If I listen sometimes I can still hear them. Sorounded by things that will remind me of moments lost. Lost to life. Decisions not crafted by my hand alone. The splotch of purple paint on the brown brick wall of my backyard door. Left by my two boys both in diapers at the time. I can still remember the anger I felt when I arived home to the news of the vandalism. What I remember most of that moment isent the paint, or my frustration. It was looking at my middle child the youngest at the time. Coming out the back door to check on me. He was sorry for what he had done. But when I looked at him i noticed he was holding a hot wheel car in his hand. I asked him why he brought out his car. His response shook me. He said in his wise age of 4, that it was incase he needed to fight. Like a younger version of a roll of nickels clutched into his hands. That reality shook me. Took me out of my place as a person and into my role as his father. To show them in more than words alone that I love them. Completely and beyond fault.
