Today is my birthday. I stretch my arms overhead so I’m as tall as I can be between fingertips and toes and then stay in bed for a while to see if eleven years old feels different than yesterday’s ten.
“Happy Birthday, Henry,” Mom says, coming out of the bathroom. She gives me a big hug and a kiss on my head. I decide that hugs and kisses are good, even if I am eleven.
“Do I look bigger?” I ask.
She holds my shoulders and examines me for a long time. Her eyes are all shiny.
“You, young man, are growing way too fast. And,” she strokes my cheek, “soon you’ll be taller than me and shaving. Then where will my baby boy have gone?”
“I’m not a baby anymore.”
She gives me another squeezy hug. “No honey, today you’re jumped into the doubles: one, one. Eleven, I can’t believe it. Best get up,
