“Dad, can I have a baby brother?”
“Are you sure you want one?”
I replied quickly, hoping to divert his attention to another topic—any other topic.
“You know you’d have to help take care of him. He’d be in your toys . . .”
Josh gave me a pointed stare; we’d been through all this before.
“I know, Dad.” He sighed in that overly dramatic way that only young children his age can manage. “I’ll teach him how to play with Legos and action figures and . . .”
I sighed lightly and tried not to let it show, knowing the litany that followed.
It wasn’t that I necessarily wanted to deprive Josh of the sibling experience. I had been through it myself. I also knew that it wasn’t all play and brotherly love. Lastly, it just wasn’t possible.
“Okay, Josh,” I said, turning to face him. “It’s your choice: You can have a baby brother or too many toys.”
Yeah, I admit it. It was kind of a cheap shot. But it felt a whole lot easier than explaining the real reason.
Before answering, Josh glanced around his bedroom. His eyes surveyed the collections of Lego sets, piles of action figures, the video game consoles, and other treasured playthings.
He turned his attention back to our current construction project.
“Too many toys,” he said, nodding firmly in confirmation.
Whew, I thought to myself. Dodged that bullet. Again.
I tried once again not to think about a time in the future when he might answer that question differently.
It was not the first time that he had asked that question. Although I hoped that it might be, I knew that it would not be the last.
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