About NaughtymanSometimes I just want to sing, I love my son I love my son I love my son. I watch him sleeping in his room and I am robbed of any words. I feel as though everyone should love him: I truly do not believe he has or ever will have a bad bone in his body.
He's gawky. He will never win a running race. He will never do delicate things with his hands.
He's naughty. He does not toe the line. He cannot sit still in boring class. He does not care what other people want and never thinks he has to please them.
He's beautiful. He knows he is charming. He manipulates everyone around him. He is happy.
He is happy! My boy loves his life. He is never troubled, never concerned, rarely angry, rarely sad for more than a moment. He negotiates with life, with me, he makes the world the way he wants as far as he can.
There he is sleeping in his room. He is my son and I love him. When I dream, I want to dream him a life to come as happy as the life he's had. I wish I had a god to bless him, and since I don't, I bless him myself.
There he is in his room. He is sleeping without a care. God, if there ever should be a god, let him remain without care.