Daniel and I were driving to Rockford to pick up a bunch of balloons for his birthday. He seemed more distracted than usual and kept muttering to himself as we went along.
“How does it feel to be ten?” I asked.
“I’m not ten yet,” he told me. “I was born at night, so I’m still nine until tonight.” That’s technically true. I asked if he wanted to hold up opening his presents until 10:38 at night. He shook his head; after dinner would be close enough.
“Do you feel any different than being nine?” I asked.
“Well, my voice hasn’t changed yet,” he announced with a sigh. Daniel yawned. “And I’m more tired than when I was nine,” he said. I nodded. I’ve noticed you get more and more weary as you get older; weight of the world and all that. “I’m hungrier now,” he said. “I’m going to need lunch. And cake.” Well, that could be arranged.
He thought for a bit. “I still like Hot Wheels,” he decided. “But now I’ll like them just because of all the fond memories I had playing with them when I was nine.”