My son, Addison, came bounding into my room the other day as I was in the slow and tedious process of waking up. He came to my side of the bed, as all my children do. (From the time they were a month old they knew to throw their cries only to my side of the bed, knowing that Dad would simply not wake up without a stiff knock on the head.)

I opened my eyes to look at him.

I don't remember what Addison said as his first greeting of the day, probably something about birds or police or playing a game involving itty-bitty mice, but I looked at him from my prone position with the realization that he was not little anymore. His face, though slimmer, is the same face that�s talked to me non-stop since he was 18 months old, but where did that long, lanky body come from? I stared at his thin arms, his torso and sinewy legs, pronounced by his form-fitting Incredible Hulk pajamas.

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