I.

Around and around we sped, the metallic tat-tat-tit-tit of the engine clanged behind our heads, blasting fumes into our faces. We jerked around corners and bumped down curvy hills. I was flooring it the whole time.

You howled with laughter, your billion watt smile lit up the cool evening sky.

"Again?" I asked as we pulled into the pit stop.

"Again!!!"

The Autopia worker waved us on, so another round we went.

---

II.

One day that same year, when I was picking you up from forest school, you ran towards me, laughing, barreling past my outstretched arms down the grassy hill.

You were fast! I lost sight as you darted around the bend.

I chased after you worried that you'd run into the parking lot. It was a relief to see you seated calmly on the dirt path, in a grove of shady trees.

You weren't doing much, just sitting there, taking a little rest.

I wondered: What was going through your mind? What were you feeling? What world was your imagination inhabiting?

It reminded me of an earlier time when you were taking one of your first showers. You grew strong enough to steady yourself on the slick tub surface.

I didn't hear much noise, so I went to see how you were doing. I peeked in and saw you behind the steam-covered glass, head bowed down, warm water hitting your head and neck. You just stood there, doing nothing, quietly enjoying the moment.

You were barely three.

Thanks for experiencing the world with me, because you make life grand.

Love, Dad