A friend of mine just had another baby, his second. Now he’s got himself, his wife and two kids to dream for. Everyday, he’s gonna dream that dream: his ultimate family, happy as can be, healthy as can be, day by day by month by year by lifetime.
Every night, for the rest of his life, before he allows himself to fall asleep, he’s gonna need to know his family’s exact whereabouts and that they are safe and secure. Only then is his job done for the day and he can fall asleep … but not before he hears his own personal version of night, daddy, night, dear.
Night, Boo, Daddy love you.
That’s what I say to Boomer every night. Sometimes I give him a kiss on the top of his head, but that usually brings him back from dreamland; so more often I offer a gentle massage, then say “Night, Boo, Daddy love you” before making the trip myself.
The friend of mine who just had his second child–he now has a family of four to take care of, whereas I have a family of two. Me and my Boo. lol
Thing is, when I first met my friend, I was a 26-year-old man living with HIV/AIDS, and he was a kid, a 13-year-old boy. A 13-year-old white boy from suburbia, USA. He’s now in his thirties. I’m now in my forties.
My friend has grown up knowing a black gay man living with AIDS, and I’ve grown up knowing a kid who is now a man with a family of four. And I’m a man, still living with AIDS, with a family of two! How cool is that?
Night, Boo, Daddy love you.
Note 2 Self: You still gotta post Boomer Loves the Bearcat, soon on When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, a periodic column or memoir or blog thingy, now and forever at Randy Boyd’s Blocks.
Randy Boyd author 