Pet names and getting punched in the gut…

It’s been almost 7 years since my dad died and occasionally I still find myself caught up in a wave of emotion.

There are times when I can predict it – anniversaries, birthdays, events and other big days…
And there are times when I can’t.

Today I didn’t see it coming.

You have to know that I have three incredible boys. They’re smart, funny, good-looking. They basically take after my wife in every way.

My middle child though, has a little streak of mischeviousness in him.

I can neither confirm nor deny that trait in myself.

Tonight I was putting him back in bed for the fourth or fifth time and decided to linger and lay on the bed with him. He pulled his usual stunts of poking me in the eyes and trying to get me to laugh – of doing pretty much anything he can to stay up just a little longer. In an effort to calm him, I laid my head on the pillow facing him and started to stroke his hair. After a moment of this he reached up and put his little hand on my cheek and just held it there. Instinctively, I smiled and said, “I love you son.”

And that’s when I felt like I got punched in the gut.

My dad used to call me “son.”
Almost exclusively.
And now I am no longer a man’s son.
But I now have a son of my own. Three actually.

It’s amazing to me how much is tied to a simple word.

Son.

It’s only three letters and yet it has the ability to move my soul.

It makes me wonder, what will my sons remember about me? Will they remember what I called them when they were little? Will they remember the good times and the bad? Will they remember how much I love them? When they’re grown men, will they still know that I’m proud of them?

Maybe I should tell them more often.