Today our little Hanker turns eight-years-old. I actually can sort of believe it; eight isn't so far of a jump from seven. He's getting older; that fact stares me in the face every day lately.
So, as it happens, he is now eight. The little bundle of smiles with a mop of silky, yellow hair atop his head is now a young boy, still full of smiles, but with hair that is darker and more coarse.
We recounted the harrowing (and long-winded on my part) tale of his birth this morning over breakfast; a birthday ritual.
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If I'd read that birth-story before the get-together this afternoon, I would have been in tears when we all sang to Hank. Wow!
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