My Missy

Everybody knows that our children “inherit” parts of us. All the time my son hears “You have your father’s eyes.” (Or worse, "…his nose.”). Adam looks, thinks, and acts very much like me. My parents laugh at me whenever he exasperates me.

But part of me, only my daughter shares. We both love a good story. A good book is always much better than a great movie. We will both stare up at a rainbow and wonder about that pot of gold. A sunset will often stop us while we watch its colors fade. We love beauty and goodness, for no other reason than they are beautiful and good.

My son may have my body and mind, but my heart belongs to my Missy. I hope she knows this.

Postnote:
"Just great, Dad," my son tells me sarcastically after reading the above. "That's corny."

"I know you think so, but your sister will understand."

"'Cause you're both so lame."