November 15, 2009
Quinton came to see me
Originally published June 21, 2004
I almost didn't recognize my son when I opened the door. His hair is long now, and cut in a shag just like Jennifer's. He could wrap those flowing locks in a ponytail with no problem. I liked the spike-doo he wore during wrestling last year a lot better. I believe that my ex-wife wants a girly-boy instead of a young man in her life.
Quinton hugged me and handed me a hand-made Father's Day card. "I love you, Daddy," he said.
"I love you, too, son," I replied. That hug really felt good. I started to mist up, so I rubbed his head and asked, "What's with all the hair? You look like a Beatle."
"What's with all of THIS hair?" he asked, as he ran his fingers through my beard.
"I'm old. I can grow a beard if I want to. But YOU need a haircut."
"I'll get a haircut when you shave that beard," he grinned.
"It's a deal, but you go first," I replied.
I dropped down to one knee so that I could get a better hug and look into my boy's eyes. "Thanks for the card, poot. I sure do love you."
"I know, Daddy. I love you, too. Happy Father's Day."
The visit didn't last long, because Jennifer was in the driveway with the engine still running in her big, silver SUV. I waved at her as Quinton ran back to the car. When they pulled away, I went back inside, looked at my card and cried all over it. I started to take a picture of it and post it here, but that card wouldn't mean anything to anybody but me. But TO ME, it means a lot.
Quinton made that card and he hand-delivered it, along with lots of hugs. I haven't lost my boy yet. He made my day.
But he surely does need a haircut.
All content © Rob Smith