(My baby)

The paper feels a little rough under your fingers. It’s the third time you go over the crayon lines, making sure the outline of your dad and yourself doesn’t fade. Jim always says that art should flow without corrections, but this is his birthday card, so it has to be perfect.

You’ve drawn him with his long, messy hair, his jacket open, and his carefree smile. Next to him, you’ve drawn yourself with a big grin, holding his hand. You’ve used vibrant colors because Jim doesn’t like monotony. "Don’t be predictable," he always says.

The letter is written in your best handwriting. When you hand it to him, Jim looks at it with a mix of surprise and tenderness. His fingers trace the drawing as if he wants to memorize it. Then he looks at you, his smile warm, almost childlike.

—This is incredible he says, his voice softer than usual.

He pulls you into a tight hug. —Thank you, little free spirit. he whispers, kissing your forehead. This is the best gift I could ever receive.