My Son

Posted By on August 3, 2015

My daddy had a way of turning those two words, ‘my son’, ¬†into a compound word with profound depth. He would say, ‘I love you, my-son’. But the my-son was said differently. A little bit of a whisper to it, maybe. He choked over it a little. It had a depth of feeling that I always struck me. I never really understood why. It was my title. I was ‘his son’. I never really pondered it, until now.

My Son turned eight years old today. That phrase has taken on a whole new meaning. It is full of love and pride, hope for the future, a blessing from God, a friend that I truly enjoy hanging out with, a fulfilled yearning that I never knew I had.  I can only pray that my-son has the contentment of love and support that my parents gave me. God bless you and keep you.

I closed his night with, “Happy Birthday. I Love you My Son

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