tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71748644012674175902011-08-01T17:22:31.984-04:00Stephen Wilkinsnoreply@blogger.comBlogger71100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7174864401267417590.post-60975287254141856232010-01-27T00:36:00.000-05:002010-01-27T00:36:17.825-05:00

"Dah-dah... Dah-dah," you said quietly, half your face pillow-planted, three-quarter thumb in your mouth, "I wan'... I wan'... I want'ou too sing duh kywié wit'me, Dah-dah." Sometimes I can hear you do language as I understood it for years, but most of the time I experience the other thing with you, like earlier today when you turned and saw me in your classroom ready to collect you, "Dah-dah!

Stephen Wilkinsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7174864401267417590.post-38937940757304682912009-09-04T22:21:00.013-04:002009-09-04T22:26:16.601-04:00

Last week, on the way home from school, you broke your musing silence to say without warning, "All we like sheep have gone astray, daddy." You spoke deliberately and thoughtful. I was stunned but drove on. We let the silence return, looked out the window, and for a moment it was as if nothing had been said. These last two weeks I've suffered privately, so I couldn't help but hear in your voice

Stephen Wilkinsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7174864401267417590.post-26539689274082885512009-06-18T07:00:00.007-04:002009-07-16T10:14:34.547-04:00

It doesn't seem possible but today, after having outgrown three quarters of your clothes, you turn two years old.There's a line in The Information,There in the night their bed had the towelly smell of marriage,and I think about it a lot when leaning into your crib trying gently to rouse you for breakfast. There, in all its purity—all its truth—is the smell of my son curled into himself like a

Stephen Wilkinsnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7174864401267417590.post-55855762255646256102009-05-14T11:04:00.005-04:002009-06-05T15:11:29.938-04:00

Your Grandpa Sir was just in the hospital for GI problems, and the first night, while I sat with him praying a silent rosary into his hell, I wondered about the disconnect between parents and children.Why is it so easy to feel so far apart even while you're holding hands in an emergency room?When your nanny lost her father to cancer, I remember her telling me that despite their close relationship

Stephen Wilkinsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7174864401267417590.post-84209670894473915502009-04-27T14:41:00.034-04:002009-04-28T15:35:49.909-04:00

The first time I plucked you out of your crib at dawn and found your pajama sleeves bloody—your sheets too—I went chronokinetic and felt decades older in a matter of seconds. In the night, you scratched your arms until they were raw, peeled yourself inside out while I slept in the next room completely oblivious to your dermic nightmare. But there it was, in all that red, the details of an

Stephen Wilkinsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7174864401267417590.post-34047549536330055392009-04-24T14:47:00.003-04:002009-04-24T14:52:16.510-04:00

You have a remarkably sweet spirit.Would-be parents hear tales of willful children who make life miserable for everyone if they don’t get their way. You’re not like that. Despite strong ideas about who’s in charge and what you’d rather be doing, more often than not you’re willing to consider our alternatives and make the best of changes we force on you.You have a very keen ear—is dad making a

Stephen Wilkinsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7174864401267417590.post-57570388390756723452009-04-23T14:35:00.001-04:002009-04-24T06:51:50.235-04:00

You were born June 18, 2007, very early in the morning.Your mother—wanting to stay active and hoping to influence labor—insisted on helping me clear the property of vines, cut limbs, 30 years of unraked leaves, and trash. Your mother is the strongest person I know. She worked for hours, worried me, and eventually stopped to lie down for a while. On my leather sofa. Where her water broke.There are

Stephen Wilkinsnoreply@blogger.com0