FIVE

Yesterday, Elijah turned five. We decided to have a party with his friends. Not just one or two or 10 friends. Every single friend Eli could think of. We pulled kids off the street.

“Hey, you look like you’re five. Want to come over and destroy a house?”

In the hours before the kids were set to arrive, I paced around my house, eying that open bottle of wine from the night before. It’s not considered alcoholism if your 9am drinking is to prepare for an onslaught, right?

I opted to keep my senses sharp.

Dad and Connie showed up right before the kids. We put dad in charge of the silly string. Connie was crowd control. We put Luca in a sniper position on the roof of the neighboring church.

Then they arrived.

And it freaking great. 5 year olds are awesome. They stood perfectly in line at the Darth Vader piñata. Shout out to their teacher, Miss Rachel for that. They ate with their mouths closed. They did not steal my TV.

And they danced with glee. Oh how they danced. We turned our basement into a miniature rave for a good hour. Is there anything more awesome than a 5 year old dancing? Or fifteen 5 year olds dancing?

They jumped and jived and did the robot and had no concept of if they were cool or uncool or if their moves were Beyonce approved. It was joyous.

Eli was showered in Legos and books and guns and all the other stuff a five year old dreams of.

By 1pm, it was all over. And Diana went immediately to bed.

Okay, here goes.

Dear Elijah,

Every time you walk into the room, a powerful glow radiates from my heart. If we could harness it, we could light Tokyo for the next 100 years. And I realized why about five seconds ago. It's because you don’t have a cynical bone in your body. You only believe in love.

Oh, how I wish you’ll never lose this. Maybe 20 years from now when life makes you feel like being a cynic, you’ll stumble across this blog and remember what it was like to be five and have a father who loves you more than anything in the world.

I love you pal.

Love,

Your Dad.