He’s almost the age I was when I met him. No longer a baby, though. And I’m not ready to call him a man. He no longer calls me his fairy godmother. I looked at him yesterday and saw someone I need to get to know again.
I remember waiting for him to be born, trying to get his mother to have him before I went back to school from Thanksgiving break. However, childbirth didn’t begin with turkey. It took a couple more days before I got the call. ”He’s here,“ his mom sung into the phone. By the time I got home, there he was, indeed. Tons of hair, already dawning his mom’s nose, and with the sweetest demeanor I’d ever held that close to me. I was more scared than I ever thought I would be around a baby.
Eighteen years later, he still has the sweetest demeanor and his mother’s nose. He still has tons of hair. He’s much taller, but when I look him in the eyes, I see the same boy who asked me where my wings were. He thought all godmothers were fairies. He was waiting for me to show my real self.
Welp, godson, I have no wings. I am not magical. I can’t grant your wishes. I will help you with your dreams, though. You are more than I ever envisioned in my wildest ones!