He makes daiquiris for us to drink while we sit in his garden underneath the weakening sun. I came over high. I wonder if his water-colored eyes have noticed. 
I say dumb things while we sit and talk because I’m young. He replies with beautiful blue depths of wisdom that make my arms feel fuzzy. He does it very carefully in that deep voice of his so I won’t pout and start drowning. Us young boys don’t like to be reminded by our daddies of how young and silly we are. He’s taught me to cringe at the word “daddy”. I don’t think I’ll ever say it again.


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