Have I ever mentioned that Henry likes to kid around a little? Have I ever mentioned that he always has a smile on his face, or laughter in his belly?
I have visions of him in the future, this boy of mine. He is a tall, shirtless young man, standing on a table with a lampshade on his head (and probably a beer in his hand), belting out something ridiculous and then laughing hysterically at himself. And then the room will erupt in laughter, too. Because he is a clown if I’ve ever seen one. He is the life of the party. And he craves the attention.
Which is why, I must assume, he chose to pretend he didn’t know the names of the coins at school. I must assume this is why he called the dime a diamond. (Honestly, when his teacher told me that one I had to hold in the laughter because I knew he was messing with her). I suggested to the teacher that it is possible that he might be teasing, just a teensy. She concurred.
Seriously, the boy knows his coins.
But, there he sat with a figurative lampshade on his head, counting out pennies and nickels and diamonds.
And you know, I can’t do anything about it. I don’t even think I want to do anything about it. It kind of makes me happy.
All I can think of is Henry, clucking his tongue, winking at me and pointing his finger the way he does.
And I laugh.
Is that so wrong?