This morning, as I was leaving for work, giving everyone a kiss, my four-year-old boy was in his usual spot. My spot in the bed. Curious George on the TV. I kissed him hard on the forehead, shook his little torso with my hand, and told him to have a good day. I had turned and was headed out of the room when he spoke.
"Daddy, what happens when you wipe away kisses?"
I looked at him and smiled. "They still count," I said.
He smiled.
I go back to him, kiss him on the side of his head. Not too wet this time.
His smile grows.
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