never to be forgotten

I've been getting a little reflective of late, thinking about my own childhood and the things I do and do not remember. I had what any observer would label a good upbringing, one that featured two happily married parents, three siblings close enough in age to enjoy each other's company, and a couple decades of drama-free existence. That being said, it's amazing how little of that time I really remember anymore. I have images, like one of my brother & I packing for "vacation" - i.e., the attic - while our parents dutifully played along, but I don't remember a whole lot. Come to think of it, I don't remember tons about my teen years either, other than "memories" of stories I've told so many times that they become the memories.

I mention this because I asked the little guy, soon to turn 5 years old, if he'll remember all of these times when he's bigger. Wise beyond his years, he told me he would not. However, when I asked him if he'd always remember how much I loved him, he said that he would. I could not have been a happier father than I was in that moment...