I was an only child until I was 16 when my mom had a son with my stepdad. When my little brother was around two I had the busy life of a teenager and didn’t really have time to do the things he wanted to do when I would come home to visit. His big thing was having brother push him on the swing set. Every time I’d walk through the door it’d be “Micoo! tingtet! (translation: Michael, let’s go to the swing set)”.
It was hard to say no to this cute little boy with his whitish blond hair and his big brown eyes and this one time, in particular, I had some friends to meet up with but told him, “Ok, but just for a few minutes.” He dragged me by my hand to the swing where I promptly put him on it and started pushing. He squealed with delight until I had a brainfart and instead of pushing the kid I pushed the swing which immediately slid down his legs and made him land directly on his head in the dusty dirt below the well-used swing. I picked him up just as he was able to catch his breath and let out a cry, his tears immediately rolling through the dirt on his chubby toddler cheeks. We make eye contact and he stops crying long enough to say, “I sowwy Micoo.”
I will never forget that he loved me so much that at two years old he was apologizing to me for a mistake I made. I love that kid. It feels like yesterday, but we’re just a few days away from his 1st birthday.
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