Everything is Spanish for Something

“Snowing,” said Atticus while staring absently out the window at an endless view of warmth and sunshine, “is Spanish for Christmas.”

I looked towards him. “Is it?” I asked.

“Yes, and snowmans are blanco.”

“True,” I answered, wondering where this was going.

“I can’t wait to play in the snow. Maybe Santa will bring some.”

“It may snow this year,” it has in the past I thought, so why not. “Do you want to make a snowman with Zane?”

“I want a baby sister.”

“Um, what?”

“That way the babies can hang out, and I can hang out with my mommy and daddy.”

“What would we do?” I asked him.

“We would play in the snow,” he replied, somewhat annoyed that I wasn’t following. “We’ll play in the snow because you love me.”

“That is the best reason I’ve ever heard to play in the snow.” I answered.

“Well,” he paused to look out the window at the far-away shadows of fall, “what about Christmas? That’s a good reason too.”

“This is true.” I could feel the tingles of tenderness growing upon me. We were having a moment, father and son, and as is the case with such things, I was cherishing it already- committing it to memory even as I lived it.

“You know what else I want Daddy?” he started. It could be anything and it would be his.

“Yo quiero leche choc-o-lot-a.”

“Si,” I replied as I stood to follow him anywhere. “Because I love you.”

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