In keeping with my quest to provide Sean with a perfect Norman Rockwell childhood, we stopped by Taco Bueno on the way home from church after Easter services and picked up some party burritos for lunch.
Who wants a ham and all the fixin’s served on the family china when you can have a burrito on paper? I figure if I keep his expectations low, it will make it easier on his future wife.
Anyway, as our little tribe of three sat around the kitchen table quietly eating our pathetic Easter dinner of burritos off paper, without warning Sean turns to his father and says, “Daddy, I love you more than all the stripes on your shirt!”
“Why thank you Sean,” Antique Daddy says looking down at his shirt.
“In fact, I love you more than all the stripes on all the shirts in the world.”
“Wow,” Antique Daddy says, “That is a lot.”
Sean sets his burrito down and looks up at the ceiling. In little boy fashion, he has shifted his brain into overdrive thinking how he can escalate this unquantifiable quantity of love he wants to describe into the realm of the absurd.
“All the shirts in the word – plus all the stripes on all the zebras in the world!”
He grins wildly at his daddy and then returns to his burrito.
When I am an old and brittle and I look back on the Easter that Sean was four, I won’t remember a big fancy dinner or a noisy table full of chattering people dressed in fancy clothes or overflowing Easter baskets. I won’t even remember burritos.
I’ll remember that unquantifiable, unimaginable, unrestrained love is best described in stripes.