What I Thought I Knew

I thought I knew a lot, but I never really knew fear until they took you out of your mother and you were a horrible blue from lack of oxygen. I never felt so protective until I held you close. I never really knew how angry I could get until you wrote on the new iMac screen in permanent marker. I never laughed so deep until you told your first knock-knock joke. I never knew how hard it would be to get through Nemo without crying until I had you. I only thought I knew happiness until I heard you say "daddy" for the first time. I never felt as helpless as when you were so sick with fever that your hands radiated heat. I never knew the depth to which I could worry, until I began to fear you might grow up like me. I only thought I knew love until you squeezed my neck for the first time. I never felt so proud as every day for the last six years.

Thank you, son, for teaching me. Happy Birthday.