This is Digby Pancake. I have been called a lot of names in my day. And in my eleven years. Some I cannot say. Some I would prefer to keep private.
But yesterday, Girl Person called both me and Peanut Butter Brickle something new. She said, “Oh, my two sons. How good you are today!”
Her sons. Sons? At first, I thought she meant, you know, like the sunshiney? There was two suns?
Now, half of what Girl Person says we kind of let slide.
But this was a new one to me. A son? Sons? What was that?
Girl Person caught herself. She asked herself what she had just said. She said, “where did that come from?”
Girl Person explained to us that she had never thought of us like that. Sure, she thought of us as family. Individuals. But sons? She said a son was usually reserved for people with people kids. But she said that she knew that she couldn’t love us more if we were people kids. She said her brain and her mouth said out loud what she knew.
I am not one for labels, unless it is on a pancake box. But I say, call the people you love exactly what you mean. Tell them what you mean. And don’t care what others think about it.
Love for others changes definitions sometimes, and that’s ok too. Live in the moment and acknowledge the meaning others have to you. Sometimes love is so deep that you can’t possibly find a name for it. And I suppose that is how Brickle and I feel.
Girl Person may call us her sons, and that’s ok by us.
Because whatever she calls us, I know the depth of her love for us. And as much as persons think they know it all…they will never know how we truly feel for you
So if it makes her feel good to call us that some days, that’s ok. As long as she calls us for dinner.