1 Chapter 1

Children? Who wants them? And why? They stink like garbage cans. They pick up every disease imaginable. They’re impolite and scream in public. They don’t know how to swim or ride a bike unless you take a week out to teach them. Most of the time they wear their food on their faces and clothes. They throw tantrums, and they’re afraid of the dark. They think the Boogeyman really exists, as well as the Tooth Fairy. They never want to go to bed on time.

Kids are termites, eating away at their parents. Hounds from hell. Villainous rug rats. Thigh-grabbers who don’t know what the word nomeans. They make the strangest noises, even when they sleep, and they beg for things. Who does that? I mean, really, who does that?

Then, those pesky demons bring furry rodents home in their backpacks, track mud through the house, and decide that they are above doing homework. The tyrannical beasts lie, cheat, and steal. When you’re not looking, they will try to finger paint you to death or smack you with one of their thick plastic toys.

The virus-infested aliens with boogers running out their noses, mussed hair, and mismatched shoes like sugar too much, and they have way too much energy when they shouldn’t. Those teeny tots are ticking bombs just ready to explode. Video game junkies. Internet addicts. Troublemakers. Explosives ready to detonate themselves.

I roll my eyes when I hear about children.

Bring on the population control. End the bullshit of whining, bullying, back talking, and ten other million issues that can easily identify any child, all of which are painfully bad and unrefined.

That’s how I felt about kids about two months ago. Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess. That’s nothow I feel about kids now.

* * * *

That was then. This is now:

I’ve changed. I’ve seen beyond me. Something’s happened in my life, and I’m less selfish and learning to care about a big man and his little guy. Life is like this at times: a door opens, and you don’t know what’s behind it until you look inside. And what you see is…amazing and will change your life forever. It will change the person you are.

Some tiny boy that can barely reach the faucet in the kitchen will melt my heart, and I’m really not sure why or how it will happen. He thinks that space portals exist and cats have magical powers. He’s only three feet tall, but there’s a lot in that tiny body. More than I can ever imagine. An adorable little boy in grade school. Tonka truck lover. Chocolate eater. Cartoon watcher. There’s nothing I loathe about the kid. He thinks I’m a God, and that I don’t make mistakes, and that I’m perfect when I’m really not, and…

And his daddy—cute, charming, smart—he isn’t so bad, either. Is he?

I think you will agree.

Listen…Part 1: Blueprints

1: Faye Vesda

May 20, Tuesday

At thirty-six, Faye Vesda turned into an unpredictable whirlwind pretty much overnight, right before my eyes. Untamable came to mind. Other descriptions included: snippy, somewhat cold, and feisty. No matter how presumptuous she came across, I still considered her my best friend and loved her with all my heart.

While visiting my Tudor, she dropped a personal pile of her crap on my kitchen counter. She grabbed a cup of coffee from the machine on the counter, poured extra milk into her coffee mug, and demanded, “These are the errands you can do for me today.”

I fingered the pile, cuddling my own cup of afternoon coffee in my left palm. There were letters without stamps, coupons for toilet paper, and a cardboard tube labeled Stone & Brae Incorporated. I took a sip of my coffee and relished its heavy Costa Rican flavor.

“How many times have I told you that I’m not your personal secretary, Faye? We’ve been over this before, if you recall.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, Paul. I’m in no mood.” She gave me a death stare over her coffee mug with her intense hazel-amber eyes and furrowed eyebrows that had been nicely groomed just that morning. She shook her head, swinging ginger-colored curls, and waved a finger at me that clearly stated: Dare to set me off, Paul Avery, and you will pay the damaging consequences.

Don’t get me wrong. I liked Faye and treated her with utmost respect. Faye, unfortunately, always found a way of crossing lines in our friendship, ever since we had met some twenty-plus years ago at Stewart Middle School in a suburb of Charlotte, North Carolina. Sometimes, I felt more like her assistant than a friend, accomplishing daily and mundane tasks for her that a paid professional like a secretary could do, day in and day out. Frankly, Faye didn’t see our relationship that way and insisted I help her the way any truefriend would.