I am a slow riser.  I take a little while to get going.  As a result, I don’t like to chat too much early in the morning.

My 9-year-old son Sam is an early riser.  A very early riser.  Usually, he can be spotted up well before 6:30AM.  Plus, he is an early morning talker.  Sam is not afraid to start up a conversation about anything regardless of whether or not the other party is awake.

Well, I usually run into Sam first thing in the morning.  It takes me about 20 minutes, but I eventually join the conversation.  That’s how our mornings are supposed to work.  It’s tiring, but it’s our routine.

This morning, I got up.  I showered.  I stumbled down for my morning coffee.  I looked around and there was no Sam to be found.  I checked downstairs and thought I heard the television.  I got downstairs and nothing.  My mind was playing tricks on me.  No Sam to be found.  Then the oddest thing happened, I grew sad (a tired wistful sort of sad) that the banter was not by my side.

I walked upstairs.  Fixed my coffee and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Finally at 7:01AM, I heard the footsteps of young Sam.  After bounding down the stairs, Sam and I were soon engaged in a long conversation about the frenemy relationship between John Adams and Thomas Jefferson.

I was tired, but I was happy.  Everything was right again.  My Sam had arrived.