My 3 year old Just Turned 4
When you were 3, Richie, you fell in love with superheros. You had me tie a red and white striped kitchen towel around your neck while you waited for Santa to bring you a real cape. A Batman one. You thought you could fly.
Then one day, you needed to fly. A balloon flew to the top of our backyard elm tree and you ran inside, pumping your arms. And I tied that tea towel around your neck, even though I could see where this was going. And you ran back out, holding your fists up in the air. And jumped. Nothing.
You ran back in, sat down at your little table and wept, "I can't fly. I can't fly."
But that didn't stop you from wearing your Batman cape when Santa brought it. Because you never know when your powers will kick in.
Why, just the other day, you flew from one side of the couch to the other and said, "Watch this. I can fly."
So I hope, now that you're four, and for always, that you'll always think you can fly, despite all the evidence that says you can't.
When you were three, you met your new brother, J.J. You learned how to make him laugh by doing rasberries on his tummy. And how to make him cry by taking his soccerball, Nelson, away.
You learned to draw people with heads and legs, who look like goblins. But sometimes you still just scribble. Your favorite toy, besides superheros, is your watergun, which you shoot at the rain to make it go away. You mastered the following tricks when you were 3: turning on the hallway light, opening the front door, doing a somersault with no hands, and going potty like a big boy. 11 superheros called to congratulate you on the last one.
The night before you turned 4, a lightening bug flashed its light on the pillow between you and Johnny. As Johnny scooped it up and put it back in its jar, your eyes got wide.
"How old are you going to be tomorrow, Richie?" I asked.
"Um. I don't know," you said. "Will you tell daddy to come in here?"
You asked your daddy, "How old is I going to do when I'm tommorow?"
He told you and you asked, "Am I make a wish now?"
You said, "I want me and daddy to go to Boston Nana and Papa's house. And I want to catch a lightning bug."
Here's to your wishes, big and small, (but mostly small.) May they come true when you are 4 and always.
You've watched your brother catch lightening bugs. You've laid your sleepy head beside one. But you've never caught one. I bet, when you're four, you will. And knowing you, that will mean more than the average person would read into it. It will mean that you are a member of the great Justice League. It will mean you can fly.