Everything is Spanish for Something
"Snowing," said Atticus while staring absently out the window at an endless view of warmth and sunshine, "is Spanish for Christmas."
I looked towards him. "Is it?" I asked.
"Yes, and snowmans are blanco."
"True," I answered, wondering where this was going.
"I can't wait to play in the snow. Maybe Santa will bring some."
"It may snow this year," it has in the past I thought, so why not. "Do you want to make a snowman with Zane?"
"I want a baby sister."
"That way the babies can hang out, and I can hang out with my mommy and daddy."
"What would we do?" I asked him.
"We would play in the snow," he replied, somewhat annoyed that I wasn't following. "We'll play in the snow because you love me."
"That is the best reason I've ever heard to play in the snow." I answered.
"Well," he paused to look out the window at the far-away shadows of fall, "what about Christmas? That's a good reason too."
"This is true." I could feel the tingles of tenderness growing upon me. We were having a moment, father and son, and as is the case with such things, I was cherishing it already- committing it to memory even as I lived it.
"You know what else I want Daddy?" he started. It could be anything and it would be his.
"Yo quiero leche choc-o-lot-a."
"Si," I replied as I stood to follow him anywhere. "Because I love you."