No doubt anybody would be proud to have the kids Jay and I have. But more than that, I am proud of the relationship we have with them.
We would go on for hours and even when Jay would complain about how noisy we get so late at night during weekends. And he wakes up to us being noisy again in the morning. We talk.
We embrace when we sleep. We squeeze wrists when we cross the street. We talk.
We kiss and hug. We tickle and wrestle. We pinch, hit, kick and bite. We talk.
We talk about good and bad things, sense and nonsense, just about anything at all. We whisper secrets, we shout out criticisms. We laugh at ourselves, we brag about how wonderful we are. We talk.
We reminisce the past. We compare endless wish lists. We decide what to eat for lunch. We talk.
We discuss, analyze, and argue. We agree to disagree. We talk.
We worry. We cry. We get through it together. We talk.
We text. We call. We write. We read. We talk.
Vincent, Anele, Jay and I; we do that. We talk.
Our life is hard, but we’re okay because…we talk.