Press play for some mood music
I remember my baby boy. I remember feeding him and I remember his sweet little laugh every time I tickled under his chin. I miss reading him the funnies and showing him the colorful pictures afterwards.
I remember we used to listen to the radio as the wife washed dishes. My lap was a horsey and he would dutifully ride as "The Lone Ranger" trickled out of the Crosley.
"Hi-Ho, Silver!!" he'd laugh, and I would always pretend to be Tonto.
I remember East Coast weekends at Coney Island and the Jersey shore. My baby boy would build the biggest sand castle he could muster only to push me into it. He'd giggle as it crumbled and I would wipe sand from my trunks.
I remember getting him ice cream on hot summer nights. The two of us would share a large cone while the misses devoured a lemon ice. He'd skip a few paces in front, as the three of us walked home.
As I sit up in my wheelchair, I find an odd comfort that my baby boy is now the one who's feeding me. The wife has been long gone and these days there's not much left that's working inside of me. I can't say much but I can certainly hear my boy remind me of our life.
But then it gets fuzzy all over again.
"I'll be back tomorrow, pop..." is the last thing I hear every night.
I remember my baby boy...
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