To My Godson, David

Since it's your birthday soon, and I'm in awe that you are an actual Man now, I figured I'd write just a little post, about the little David I knew.

Of course, no David-story would be complete without mentioning the fact that you have always been a lover of music.  I have countless hours of home video depicting you playing a guitar like a Beatle, sitting on the floor at Grandma and Poppie's singing along to movies, and "dancing" in the backyard.

One of my more interesting music-related memories is that you liked (?) Michael Bolton, of all people, and once, when I was standing on a random rock in Disneyworld, you said, "Aunt Cathy, you look like Michael Bolton on a tall mountain rock."  I remember we were trying to interpret what you were saying (your English skills were "interesting" at the age of 4 or however old you were), and I sorted out that you were referring to a music video of your hero.
I think I actually have a picture of that somewhere.
I may have burned it.

Regardless of the fact that I am not Male, and hopefully do not look like Michael Bolton, past or present, it seemed you had an interesting view of the World, which bridged the gaps of sex, color, height, whatever.
I think you even said that Aunt Rosalie looked like Oprah once.  There's also the fact that you and your cousin Rachel were planning to be married some day.  Cute couple, but maybe a little too adventurous into dueling banjo territory.

I have a photo of me holding you as a baby, and I can still remember how you used to snuggle right up into my neck and fall asleep in a matter of seconds.  That cute, drooling, blue-eyed bundle has somehow grown into a cute, drooling, blue-eyed 8 foot tall Man.  (haha)

Of course, there are the other, well-known, famous David moments in my history of memories.

Like when you would call me on the phone and ask how to find the hidden door in whatever level of Final Fantasy you were playing (the first one?? How old am I!?), expecting me to save you from death while I was frantically trying to figure out which part of the game you were in.

Or how you were hypnotically drawn to the church altar during Spenser's Baptism and stood guard with a slight deer in the headlights expression during the entire ceremony.

Or the fact that when you were a little bit older, I think you asked your parents if, when I got married, I would select you as the "pillow boy" (ring-bearer) for the proceedings, even though you were well beyond the age criteria for the part as it was.  And, I wasn't getting married at the time.

I'm actually laughing aloud, recalling these memories, even though we've spoken of them, countless times.  I guess that's what old people do.  Particularly the ones who look like Michael Bolton.  I'm never wearing my hair curly, again.

Anyway, much love to you, my dearest David, on your (almost) birthday, from your Godmother who digs your taste in music, thinks you are beautiful, and hopes that you'll remember her when you are a rich and famous supermodel/music guy/writer/vintner/whatever you want you want to be.  Happy Birthday.

And yes, I will reserve the part of the ring-bearer in my wedding, just for you!