In an effort to preserve the artifacts of childhood without the artifacts of childhood, Carolyn and I have been trying to preserve Sam’s efforts digitally.
<p>
I came home after work one day recently, and at some point in the evening, out of the blue, Sam says:
</p>
<blockquote>
<p>
“I wrote you a poem daddy. I left it on your bedside table. You can read it when you go to bed. If you want to.”
</p>
</blockquote>
<p>
And sure enough, she had, though I was unable to read it without help, and I never did go back to learn what it really was…
</p>