|A recent picture of me by my 9 year-old, Jackson.|
They were in our home office, at one of the desks, where they had been doing well for the past ten minutes or so. I could hear them in there, engaging in imaginative play, which I love because it requires them to actively use their minds, rather than sitting passively in front of the TV set.
This entreaty by Diego was louder than the banter that had preceded it, so I came in and saw Jackson with a pen, poised to personalize the book where I scribble down random daily thoughts. Truth be told, I don't really mind finding Jackson's work in my journals -- within reason. He tends to draw odd little sketches which I simply write around, and they end up being an interesting adornment to my work, when all is said and done.
"Here, Jackson," I say, before he can start loudly pleading his innocence, and I reach up high on my shelf and hand him his own blank book. (I have a few extras lying around, because I'm an optimist.) He immediately begins work on a fascinating seascape, then asks me to draw him a shark, so that he can put a monkey in its toothy mouth. Obviously.
"Look, Dee-AY-go!" he says, showing off his new journal to his big brother, and now I've got to stave off the older one's whining about not having one. I ask if he'd like a blank book of his own.
He then writes on the first page of his new journal, which he dates and titles "About My Life." His first sentence, which I put right up there with "Call me Ishmael," and "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times" is "My name is Diego Reyes Fuchs and I got a dog in April."
And with that, a proud Fuchs family tradition continues . . .