I really, really want to apologize for all those things. But when you’re the most angry at me, I want you to try to remember that, to me, you’ll always be the tiny one-year-old boy standing naked in the hallway with a toothless grin and a cuddly lion clutched to your chest. Whenever I’m difficult. Whenever I’m embarrassing. Unreasonable. Unfair. I want you to think back to that day. That day when you refused to tell me where the hell you’d hidden my damn car keys. And I want you to remember that it was you who started it.
