He Goes to 11

atticus, son, 11, birthday, honea, whit honeaTen came and it went, and we watched it, hugged it, and poked it with sticks. It was a rough year, full of things that weigh a child down and give him the strength to fly. It was here, and now it is not.

Eleven is one louder, and we hope all the merrier.

Happy birthday, Atticus, you beautiful, wonderful boy.

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