The first baby I ever fell in love with was born on November 12 (I’m a day early, here). It’s because of everything he made me feel–both then and in the fifty years since–that I learned what it is to be an aunt, an experience that was repeated several times–and that I can write one of my character’s deep love for children, though I was never a mother.
Happy birthday, Daniel. Thank you for being born!
How lovely for you and for him. Wonderful to hear that you treasure it.
Thank you. I just can’t believe he’s fifty.
Fifty and still shredding.
He’s an inspiration to us all. As are you, mountain man.