Let's see. Christmas. Early very 1980s. Not my son. Nephew. His grandmother's house, my mother-in-law. Plate of cookies on the table. Took forever before he left that thumb alone. He's a policeman these days - after he took up being an Army Ranger in the post-9/11 my-country needs-me period. He has his own son about this age today. He likes to look at me and say 'Thom.'
So what do I think of when I look at this? Christmases - past and present and future, love, family, children to be proud of. Sigh.
I also wonder where that handsome young Uncle Thom went. One thing's for sure - his butt has become his belly. Sigh.
I am a fortunate man. Life's been good to me so far.
TGB
