Later in the evening, I put the completed paperwork back in Tyler’s book bag as he’s getting ready for bed. “Don’t forget to give these to Greg,” I say, then correct myself at the strange look my son gives me. “Your teacher. Mr. Boucher? Make sure he gets these.”
“Sure.” Tyler crawls under the covers on his bed and lays back against his pillows, a favorite storybook in hand. “Read me this one tonight, Daddy.”
I glance at my son and, even though he’s still a little boy, I can see a hint of the man he’ll grow into one day. My heart clenches in my chest, as if trying to hold onto this moment as long as I can. He’s growing up, I know, and there will be an evening in the future when he doesn’t bring a book down from the shelf as he’s getting ready for bed, when he won’t want me to read to him
