Tupelo Honey
It rained hard last night. It's been raining for several days. I once heard a friend say, "Don't curse the rain in Texas," he's right.
Somewhere between the night and the morning, my third son, Thatcher, climbed into bed with his mom and me.
When he gets into bed with us, he snuggles up next to me and reaches back to feel my beard. He knows it is me, but he's just making sure. It is the most tender of touches between a father and a son.
That sweet boy woke me several times with sharp blows to my kidneys. I pretend I don't like it, but I do. At three years old, he's just a little guy, but he won't be for long.
When I left for work, it was still pouring. The boy was still in my spot, snuggled next to his mom. Not a care in the world.
On my drive to work, I heard Van Morrison's Tupelo Honey. Van Morrison is a favorite of mine. I always thought the song that best described my wife was Brown Eyed Girl , but a better Van Morrison song for her is Tupelo Honey.
She's as sweet as Tupelo honey
She's an angel of the first degree
She's as sweet as Tupelo honey
Just like honey from the bee.
On this side of heaven, my boys won't find many better spots than snuggled next to their mom. I tell them, "No one will ever love you like your mom." That includes me. I love them, but not like her. She's an angel of the first degree.
Not too long from now, they will be dads driving to work in the rain, and their kids will be snuggled next to their moms. I pray they are as sweet as Tupelo Honey. But that's for another day. For now, sleep like a prince, little boy.
