A calcified bruise.  That’s all it is, this big dimple on his right cheek.  A result of a clumsy tumble from the top of an armchair four years ago.  His cheekbone struck the corner of the heating vent, and the rest is Fischer history.

And, oooooooooh, I absolutely love his dimples.  The calcified bruise caused what is now his third, and his deepest, one.  When he tries to hide a smile, that dimple betrays him by showing up.  Still, he tries.  The day he masters that dimple, or the day it fades, will be a sad day indeed, for me.

Seven years ago today, he was born. 

“Dimples” is a child with incredible depth.  He feels deeply, but does not show it.  He guards his affection carefully, but loves fiercely.  He reminds me of his father.

His infancy coincided with my own discovery of depth—in myself, in beauty, in life.  It was a dark time for me, but I do not remember it with sadness or shame.  It was my own mythological journey of descent (complete with monsters and battles), and he was my talisman.

I love this kid.

 These photos were from our day in Arches National Park.  This particular arch was Dimples’ favorite.  It was sort of a surprise discovery (hidden treasure!  arrrrr!).  Plus, it was his idea to check out the other side, which is where we found the incredible texture of the photo to the right.  He was bursting with pride. Also, it was a helluva lot shorter than the hike we had planned.  He does not love hiking in 105-degree heat.  The time spent under this arch will always be one of my favorite memories of Dimples.

I suppose I would try to hide my feelings, too, if every time I smiled, my mother devoured my cheeks.  Dammick.