The entire school year was one giant morning of reluctance. The boys were gently coaxed, bribed, hugged, and threatened to get their sleep-filled bodies out of bed. Sometimes there was singing. It seldom came easy. They resisted daily, and resistance was futile.
Summer began, officially, the moment we walked off of campus, but that was just half a day still tinged with classroom hues and boy’s room smells. The real kickoff started this morning, and it started early.
My name, or what passes for it, echoed through the open window, blended with the jazz that caught it, and landed somewhere between my coffee and the keyboard.
“Daddy,” he said again.
I walked to the deck and looked down upon adventure. It was still socked in by gentle hills stretching with the morning, rolling their coat of marine layer forever from the sea. In the midst stood a boy, and he was ready for anything.
“Good morning, Daddy,” he said. “Do you want to play with me?”