It’s ten o’clock, Sunday morning and I’ve just spend the last hour or so writing but also listening to my 12 and 14 year old boys rough-housing in the spare bedroom. They sleep – if sleep is the correct term- in a big king sized bed and it’s actually quite sweet to hear them laughing and fighting and wrestling and giggling and shouting and playing and bonding about 25 feet away.
That, for me, is the nicest Father’s Day present.
It is music to my ears.
Now to go join them.
I may be some time.