My son and I were lounging in my bed one lazy morning recently when he commented that he wanted a ceiling fan in his room like I have in mine.
"We'll have to see what we can do about that," I told him.
He then asked why we didn't have that guy who brought our downstairs fan bring another one for his room.
I'm sitting there racking my brain -- the guy who brought our downstairs fan? What in the world is he talking about?
It took only another second or two for me to realize he was referring to my ex-boyfriend who installed a new fan in my living room about three years ago.
"Do you mean Jim?" I ask him.
"Yeah," he said. "The guy who brought the fan."
First of all, I'm impressed that my son remembers anything from when he was 2 years old. Second of all, I'm thoroughly amused by the transformation of Jim's role in his life from a buddy and Mommy's friend to "that guy who brought our downstairs fan."
I was recounting the story to a friend of mine who made me laugh when she said it sounded like it had become a pretty simple equation in my son's mind: "that guy equals cooler air equals thumbs up for me. Let's get him back here."
I had once worried that my break up would upset my son or that he'd have memories of Jim that would make him sad. Clearly I needn't have been concerned since he remains in the wisps my son's memory as little more than a serviceman it would be handy to have around again.
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