The Fire Tribe

Abraham,
This is your favorite book. It's called Almost Everything and it is aptly titled. There are hundreds of illustrations of plants, animals, tools, houses, clothing and everything else you can imagine. You call it 'rocket book,' because of the page that has things that fly on it. You now have signs for rocket, airplane, helicopter and hot air balloon. You like the heavy equipment page too. I imitate a backhoe and then demonstrate jackhammer on the tickly part of your belly.

Pa-

Abraham,
It was a gray, rainy Christmas, perfect for lolling around in pajamas, opening presents and playing with the crumpled remains of countless packages. You had a hand in opening everything under the tree, and what a haul it was. You got all kinds of books; your favorite so far is one about counting that has a page with one hundred ducks on it. Your wardrobe grew substantially by day's end, the highlight of which has to be the ice-blue camo hat- with floppy horns- and mitten set. You wear hats in thirty second intervals, tossing them to the ground as quickly as we can slide them on your head. Except this hat, which you wear proudly. It helps that it's hard to take off when wearing big mittens.

After the rain stopped, just as the cloud-soaked sun descended from the sky, we all took a walk up the mountain behind the house. The wind was driving the last clouds along a million miles an hour. You rode on my back and were very chatty, full of nonsense words and fake sneezes- a favorite joke around the house. It was all so perfect.

Pa-

Abraham,
I am anchored in annivesaries and Thanksgiving is that sort of day for me. I can see the full shape of time between Thanksgiving days. This past year it was like the world was completely reinvented. One year ago you were in casts, sad and hurt after your surgery. One year ago I was drowning in it, useless and hungry. It was raining a year ago.

Now, I float. This new family, this new place, these new ideas are sweet and amazing. I am happy to be here.

We take a walk today on a sunny afternoon. All the salamanders were too quick to catch.

Grandma T joins us for our second annual very small Thanksgiving feast. On the night she arrived you danced together to Cuban music. I am happy to see that you know her so well.

Pa-

Abraham,
People declare that you are a sponge, absorbing everything around you. It's an easy misconception to make; your dark eyes are always open and shiny clear. You see everything. But I don't think you absorb information so much as you go out and create it. Everything you see, you'd rather touch, taste, turn in your hands, smell, bang on and then watch fall to the ground a few times. The deadest, driest leaves are exciting, the way they crackle when crumpled, the way they flutter when waved, the way they make Mom and Dad say “No, sir,” when you hint at eating them. Ladybugs, books, butter tub lids, old watches, cell phones, pebbles and crayons are all equally fascinating. I feel fortunate that I get to watch you create the world one small, sweet thing at a time.

An incomplete list of your sign language:
bird, dog, cat, fish, snake, flower, eat, more, brush teeth, night-night, potty, where?, ball, book, finished, hat, wind, milk, dance, bye-bye
That's all you need for poetry.

flower wind dance finished,
night-night

Pa-

Abraham,
Today you and I walked through the tiny bird sanctuary near our house. It's a favorite place for both of us. You like the ducks and dogs and squirrels. I like to watch the place change day by day, as the sun settles lower in the sky and the trees catch light before fading away to their dull winter colors.

There are mallards, coots and grebes hanging out in the pond now. The mallards are not at all frightened of people and let us hover a few feet away, watching them nibble at the pond grasses and algae. You have laser focus, studying every detail. Walking in the woods with me can be hard on some people; I am constantly stopping to investigate whatever catches my eye. And everything catches my eye. You are the perfect walking companion; you point to every interesting weed, scuttling creature, flickering bug and say, “A-da!” I think that means, “Look at that. Wow!” We stop, we investigate, we walk on in wonder.

A-da,
Pa-

And can be found at this link…

Rain, rain, let it rain
Wash away all sorrow and pain
Try, try, you must try,
Sometimes you crash, sometimes you cry
Shout, shout, let it out
Sing out fear, chase away doubt
Rain, rain, let it rain
Wash away all sorrow and pain

Abraham,
Today is your first birthday. I have nothing especially profound to say about the way time moves now, just that it does and I ride it as best I can. It's been an amazing time in my life. Before you arrived your Uncle Steve told me that the child makes the man. Yes. And unmakes him from time to time as well. In the last year I have walked the hardest ground and the softest earth. You are a ray of light and everything is illuminated in your shine. And you're just the coolest little dude too.

Today we went to the orchard and picked apples. There were lots of kids and dogs for you to study. For a long time you stood, clutching your Mom's shirt. You stood so tall and free. I gently held your feet in the right position. We have long days ahead to help your feet, but you are ready to run and that will be the sweetest thing ever.

You got some cool books from folks, including a pop-up book about a square-dancing cat that tends to farm chores. You are intent on folding everyone's heads. Momma got you a crazy fast top that spins so quickly that the colors blend and change before your eyes. You got clothes and two plastic tubes that bend into funny shapes and make a eerie whistling noise when spun overhead. You ask us to do this by shaking your pointed finger in a random back-and-forth-semi-circular pattern. This can also mean “Please juggle now,” “Look, a ceiling fan” or “Over-that-a-ways.” We know what you mean.

Happy birthday, my son.

pa-

Abraham,
These days we ask you a lot of questions like, “Where's the clock?” You grin and point with great vehemence at the clock on the dining room wall. Sometimes we then ask, “Where's Momma?” in reply to which you frequently also point at the clock. Everyday though, you are more accurate and amazing. You know where your toes are and can find our ears with great reliability. You have your mother's need for symmetry; if you point to one ear you must then turn our head and point at the other. You point to whatever part of your (or our) dinner you prefer. If you really like something, perhaps frozen pears or kale-flavored rice chips, you throw your point, like an umpire calling a strike. “I want that .”

We have a new mural on the wall of animals and things. It's half an alphabet. Someday I will get to the other half. We color it with you a little bit at a time. You are better now about eating less crayon and coloring more. I think you like orange. You point to the pictures on the wall and we say whatever it is. Somtimes we make the sound too, if we know it. Soon, the “I is for igloo” will make a cold, windy sound and we will color it very brightly, as if it were made of popsicle blocks.

Pa-