Today I had one of those flashbacks where my little boy was sitting near his bed in our one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles, about 19 years ago. He had two plastic milk crates that held his toys, which included cars, balls, and a red plastic fireman hat that he would wear all over the place. The wallpaper was striped and he had pictures of scriptural figures on the wall for inspiration. I can see him there looking up at me and babbling away, like he always did. My little chatter box.
That's all. Nothing deep or profound. Just my home movies running in my head. And I use my sleeve to clean my eyes.