I heard you crying last night and telling Dad that you’re losing me.
Part of me wanted to barge into the room and hug you, except the other part felt like that would be a little weird.
You’re not losing me.
I’m growing up and I don’t think you like that very much.
I guess that’s normal.
My friend Noah’s mama still leaves him love notes in his backpack.
So what you do is really not so bad, all things considered.
Dad told me to be more understanding of your feelings.
I think you miss me being your little boy.
I sometimes miss being your little boy, only I’m not gonna admit that to anyone.
I remember all the times you think I already forgot:
Sitting up in the tree house fighting dragons
Trying to catch our shadows
Singing the Pooh song
Finding animals in the clouds
Making up silly poems with my name in them
Dad said you get scared sometimes that you won’t matter anymore.
You matter more than anyone else.
I would never tell Dad, but you’re the one I count on most. Dad is awesome. I love him. He’s my hero.
You’re like the best prize in the Cracker Jack box.
I’m sorry I’m making you sad.
I would try and make it up to you, but I’m not sure how.
I don’t want to act little anymore so that won’t work.
I’m not old enough to act really grown-up and take you to lunch so that won’t work.
Maybe if I tell you a secret and you don’t tell anyone else, that would make you feel better.
I love you more than anybody and anything on this planet; more than Fortnite and mozzarella sticks; more than the prettiest girls in school and my Smart Bot.
I hope you won’t cry anymore.
Please make pizza for dinner. I will be home on the late bus right after practice.
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