Twenty Years Later

Today is Angel's birthday. b and I are driving down to his school to take him out to dinner. I know at his age it is next year--the coveted 21--that matters, but for me there is something poignant about reaching the two decade mark.

Here's a poem I wrote a very long time ago, when I was already feeling he was getting so grown and wanted to capture some of the moments of his earliest years.

Photos

I remember your first practical joke.

You told me to get up and then

you took my seat

and laughed.

I remember you fell out of your chair

because

I didn't strap you in.

You only fell a few inches

but

you hit your head and

the floor was wood and

you cried and

I felt so bad

because

I knew it was a bad idea.

But I did it anyway.

I remember the time

I told you to bring me the toy and you

went to the other room

and got it.

I remember the first time I took you on

the subway and you fell asleep and

the train felt

too loud and

too dirty and

too dangerous and

you were so small

and I was afraid.

I remember bringing you into bed and

you would curl up with your head

under my chin and

the rest of you

between my arms,

your feet tucked tight into my chest.

I'd smell your little bald head and

drift into sleep.

But I'd wake up with

the bed and

my shirt and

you

soaked through

with pee and

milk and

everything

needed to be changed.

And then I'd do it again.

I remember walking into the living room

and seeing you sitting on the couch

by yourself

like it was your house and

your couch

and it was.