I carry the big boy up the stairs,
Into the bathroom,
To facilitate the brushing of teeth,
The putting on of pajamas.
He has stayed out late tonight-
Not late, late,
Just "for a school night" late-
Auditioning for a play and
Eating post-audition gelato,
Enjoying rare one-on-one time,
With his mother.
With his bathroom business done,
He carefully opens the door to his room and
Gingerly creeps up the ladder to the top bunk,
Silently settling into bed,
Careful not to wake his sleeping brother below.
I stand on tiptoe.
I ruffle his hair.
I tell him, "good night."
I tell him, "I love you."
I give him a hug and a kiss.
As I put my hand on the door knob,
To let myself out of the room,
He stops me.
"Hey, Dad?"
He often has one last question before bedtime.
A final stall.
Can I have drink of water?
Do we have school tomorrow?
What's for breakfast?
Not tonight.
"Are the Illuminati real?"
Goodnight, son.
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