Aaron's not a tad sleepy, so for the past hour or so, we've been playing the "Tell me about.." game. Basically, I'm the one doing all the talking. His job is to say, "Daddy, tell me about..." Most of what he wants to know is from my childhood. "Dad, tell me about your first pet.." "Dad, tell me about how you got that scar on your shoulder.." (one of my many attempts at believing I was Superman) "Dad, tell me about when you first met Mom.." They are memories that he's likely heard before, but he enjoys hearing me tell them again.

In case you were curious..

My first pet was a little terrier named Terry (very unique, right?). Unfortunately, he was only with us for two weeks, and the reason why would fill up this page.

I have a scar the size of a nickel on my left shoulder. I was nine, and I tried to jump off the second story roof to a bed of pillows below (parents weren't aware of this at the time). I jumped, hit the pillows, and a stick. Knowing now how easily the stick could have pierced through my chest, I can't believe I was that silly.

I met Mom at a church function. I had just come home to work at my grandfather's church for the summer, and Katie was volunteering with a couple of her friends. That was the first time I saw her. The first time I became courageous enough to talk with her came much later.