As I drove into the driveway, I heard the loud buzz of his welder. Smoke from the molten steel hung in the air like cigarette smoke in a bar. My mom’s baby brother stood up. His knees were dirty with the black soil he kneeled in. He wore a dingy black “Support your local black and white” t-shirt. When he lifted the flaming skull-faced welding mask, his missing teeth were quite noticeable. I was sure there was some outrageous story behind them, but in all the years I’ve known him, I never asked. His long greasy black hair was pulled into a ponytail. “What are ya up to?” he grumbled in his low raspy voice. I told him that for once I had an entire day off and wanted someone to sit with and drink beer. He chuckled and waved for me to sit down next to the large fire pit.

It is 4:00 p.m. when he gets off the reclining chair and says, “Is it time to eat? I’m hungry. Come on everyone, let’s sit down together at the dining room table.” He is a tall man, standing 5’11”, and weighs 240 lbs. His hair is short, black, and soft as a baby’s. The color of his skin is that of a Native and his eyes are beautifully brown. When he speaks, his voice is deep but clear. He gives us a little history of his past.

Walking into the living room, I hear a small voice say “Ma Ma!” A smile crosses my face as I see my son proudly sitting in the oversized dark blue recliner. He must have figured out how to get into it by himself. I can’t believe how big he is getting. It seems like just yesterday he was learning how to walk and now he can get onto the furniture. He thrusts his upper body back with as much force as he can muster in an attempt to rock the chair. A huge infectious laugh erupts from his belly as he uses all of his might to rock the chair back and forth. 

As Damon sits with satisfaction in the chair, I notice the sun catching glints of the strawberry highlights in his golden blonde hair.  His once stringy hair has finally started to grow, forming a widow’s peak. It reminds me of his father’s receding hairline. Damon’s creamy pale skin is not yet affected by age or by the elements of this harsh world. His cheeks are so round you would think that he was holding something in them. They even shake like Jell-O when he runs.

Distracted by the cartoons on the television, Damon puts his thumb in his mouth, a terrible habit I dread trying to break. I still find it terribly cute. The way his pudgy little finger curls around the edge of his little button nose. I can even see his pink tongue latched onto his thumb, at the corner of his mouth. His already plump lips are only accentuated by his thumb sucking.