Like a father at war

It's like I've never met my son. I hear he's now up to 11.5 inches. My little plant is all grown up, and I am not around to see it.



- I won't be around to see his first steps (granted he'll never take any, because he's a tree, and those don't walk).

- I won't get to hear his first words (not that he'll ever talk).

- I'll miss all of his rec league b-ball games (he'll definitely be a center. or at least a power forward).



On the flip side, I never have to change a diaper, get rudely woken in the middle of the night by some rustling leaves on the baby monitor, or sit in a carpool line. He'll probably find a better father/tree figure somewhere along the line anyway.



And to you detractors who accuse me of not paying child support, (a) seeing as I'm in jail, the only currency I have access to is cigarettes (b) I provided the very pot in which Hugo currently grows (c) I carried the potting soil MORE than half the way back to the office. So there.



In closing, Hugo, I took a picture for you. This is the view out my third floor window. Hope you enjoy it. It was taken at sundown, when the day's last glimmers reflect off the metal bars. Hugo, this one's for you.