My Sons,
If the days were full before, they are overflowing now.
Alessandro, you are a sweet narcotic. You are a nap magnet, inviting your Momma and I to slow down, lay quietly for a minute, sleep peacefully, safe in the love.
Abraham, you are a magical big brother. “I like our new baby,” you said today. You are careful about noisy doors and want to check up on Alessandro frequently.
I have brought you to visit stone projects before, but today was the first time I brought you to work. You helped me grout a small section of bluestone flagging. You mixed a tiny batch of mortar in your tiny wheelbarrow wearing enormous gloves. You passed me a tablespoon of mortar on a pointy trowel whenever I needed it and you caught a bedraggled butterfly with your bare hands. It's hard to say who was prouder, you or I. You were proud to work, to take part, to be able to use the tools and contribute. Me, I was proud that my oldest son would care to come to work with me and would do such a great job.
Flash memory: I remember going to the hardware store my father managed on snowy no-school days. I remember shoveling snow and getting work pay for the first time. I remember the loading dock guys were the coolest. I remember feeling great when they welcomed me into their disheveled ranks. I was probably ten. “I'll buy, you fly,” one said, in a confusing turn of phrase that meant he'd buy me a soda if I made the short walk to the liquor store next door. I always got grape Crush.
Pa-