Sebastien Wilcox

Dad I can’t feel my arm, my boy said as he woke up from his sleep. I said what happened? I don’t know, he said. I squeezed his arm and said can you feel this? Can I feel what, dad? Oh oh I said. Oh oh what dad? I squeezed harder and said can you feel this? He said ouch that hurts. I said that’s good you can feel you arm. But it’s tickles me papa, my arm is tickles. That’s not proper English I told him. He started getting whinny, and it became difficult for me to comprehend what he was saying but I did hear the words arm and tickles during his whino rant. Then I broke the news to him that his arm was asleep. He said arms don’t sleep, papa. I said yes they do and they can dream too. Arms can dream he said back to me, coming up on dream like he was asking a question. Yes I said, your arm was dreaming of tattoos and muscles and wristbands and watches. Dad he said, coming up on the word dad. Yes, Zachary. Does my arm snore when it’s sleeping? I said yes, it does, and sometimes it talks in its sleep and it says “hey elbow you’re out of joint, I don’t want to shoulder this burden anymore!”

Papa, my arm isn’t tickles me anymore. I have to peeca.

The moral of this post? Zachary has to stop sleeping in the fetal position.