That’s the car my 8-year-old says he’d like to have when he’s older.

Hate to break it to him, but unless we win the lottery that’s just not going to happen. Still, I can appreciate that he dreams big. Kinda like I wanted a horse when I was younger, but never got, and no I’m not bitter. My parents gave me some lame-o excuse that we didn’t live on a farm. I spent weeks trying to understand why the darn thing couldn’t live in our backyard or toolshed.

We’re a lot alike, in other words. We’re dreamers. We’re also the sentimental type, and I wrote this for him:

Dear Griffin,

These days, you seem lightyears away from the days I proudly took you shopping during maternity leave, and naively forgot the diaper bag. You’re getting older, growing as fast as I can keep food on the table, and talking the talk with your pals. (As in, ‘Dude, check it out.‘) Still, my insides grin when I notice you haven’t lost that sweet side of you, most definitely my favorite quality that you possess.

The side of you that lets out an ‘awwwww’ when you see a baby at the mall, the side that tells me I look nice when you get home from school, even though we both know I still have bedhead from my afternoon nap. The side that gasps in fear when I say your younger brother has to have a shot tomorrow and the side that still waves to Papaw Mike in heaven when the stars come out at night.

It’s the side that isn’t too cool to kiss Grandma goodbye, the side that looks for me on the sidelines at your football games, and the side that grins bashfully and says ‘Mommmmmmmm‘ when I tease you about girlfriends.

You are that something special that doesn’t come along every day and I will always love your spirit. Simply put, you make my heart smile.

Love you, buddy.