STAMP OF APPROVAL - a selection story

epilogue

"Tell me the story again, daddy."

We run through the sunflower field. Our hands are linked together and when we look behind each other, we see his small chubby legs move as fast as they can to try to catch up to us. Our laughter can be heard throughout the entire field. His squeals echo inside my head.

He catches us. He runs right into my leg, and though the impact is small, I still collapse to the ground, picking him up with me as we roll across the dirt. He laughs and laughs and once it seems the victory is his, he takes off again, running through the field, disappearing between the sunflowers.

I search and search for him, playfully poking my head in between flowers, calling his name.

He'll sneak up behind me and shout my name, scaring me and the chase begins all over again.

Then as afternoon turns to dusk, we head back home. He always falls asleep in his seat, resting his head against my shoulder as I turn to stare out the window.

But once we arrive back home, he'll awaken, and before we can leave the car, he turns to me, grabbing onto my arm until I face him. And then he'll ask, once more.

"Tell me the story again, daddy."

I'll carry him up to his room. I'll tuck him into bed. And he'll beg once more, for the story, and that's when I'll give it to him.

He'll listen with wide eyes and head resting on his closed fists. He'll stare at me, riveted, even if he fights off exhaustion. I'll start the story how I always start it. With the story of his grandmother, who he'll never get to meet, but who he will always remember. He asks so many questions about her and it always makes my heart sob, knowing he'll never get a chance to meet her, especially seeing as he looks so much like her.

Then the story will continue on. I talk about his grandfather, someone else he will never meet.

And he is always curious about him, but I can't bring myself to mention more.

He understands. He'll always ask for more about him, wondering why we could never get along or why I can't remember him the way he should be remembered, and I always go to explain, but then he sees my tears and stops me.

Then I talk about his aunt. And the way his face lights up when I talk about her never fails to light me up too. He constantly misses her and takes every opportunity to continue with parts of the story, especially about her. He could tell me the story by now, but he insists I tell it better.

The story continues. I talk about my first dance, with his mother, my wife, and that's when he takes control of the story. He describes the way I stumbled over my own two feet, the way we finally met for the first time once her mask fell off, and then he bursts into giggles at the way I just stared at her. He always says right then, I must have known we'd get married.

He sits up at this point, describing the biggest points in the story, including dates and thunderstorms and private dance lessons. He knows all of it. Even the bad things. The fist fight, the almost drowning in the pool, and even when I tried to push her away. He always gets sad at those parts, when it seemed to the rest of the world that we would never work.

Then we get to the end of the story. When I left. When she cried. When I came back. When we kissed and I proposed. And he always takes the reins on that part, insisting he tells his part better. He describes how I took her to the sunflower field, the one he always wants to go to, where I told her I loved her and that I want to marry her. And when he forgets to tell the part where I kiss her, I remind him, and he makes a face.

We always end there. Because he knows the rest. It took a while, and a lot of tears, but we got married. And then we were surprised with him, only nine months later. He says it's his favorite part, when he comes in, but then he always brings it back to the sunflower field.

That's when he points to the picture on his wall. The one he insisted on having in his room.

Full of sunflowers glued onto the frame.

It continues back to the sunflowers. And the woman in the photo that he wishes he knew more.

It feels different, to have it all come back to Mom. To come back to the life that I never wanted and that I tried to run away from. And yet, it's all my son wants to talk about. It's what he brings up and asks me about, because he knows, deep down, how much it means to me.

Once the story ends, I'll kiss him on the cheek and tuck him into his covers.

And as I start to leave the room, just about to close the door, he says the same thing he says every night.

"Tell me the story again, daddy."