My boy would get out of bed in the morning, and before he would say a word to anyone else, he would greet his ball with a big hug and a jolly, “Ohhhh Wilson!” I’m not sure what this ball was saying to my kid, but apparently he’s quite a comedian. No person, place or thing could make my son laugh like Wilson.
But, not long ago, Wilson really started falling apart. His outer layer was peeling off and I was finding little bits of foam all over the house. I figured it was time to retire him to a top shelf somewhere. Someplace out of reach, but within view. The two of them would have to skip the long walks and holding hands, but they could continue their conversations, and still have some laughs.
I thought this would be traumatic for my son. Wilson had become his best friend and I just knew he wasn’t going to like the idea. So, to ease the pain, I went out and bought a new soccer ball.
Now, I don’t want to generalize and make comments about men or anything, but it was as if my five year old was going through a mid-life crisis. Because, when he saw the new, shiny, white ball…the younger, prettier model…he quickly handed me the beat up version and said, “This is the OLD Wilson. You can throw it in the trash..”
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