He goes by b!X, to be exact, but he didn’t always. We named him Christopher and called him Kit (after Kit Marlowe). We were both English majors, of course. No one calls him “Kit” any more (except for family when he’s not around).

He’s not around family much these days, since he lives about as far away across the country from us as is possible. I don’t think the previous sentence indicates the reason, but there he is.

He was born on my father’s birthday — about the best gift you can give a grandfather: his first (and only) grandson. I remember hearing my brand new son give a yell even before he was all he way out of my body.

Yet he grew up quiet and thoughtful and self-contained. He still is. Unless he’s on the interwebs, and that’s where he exercises his powerful, passionate, and persuasive voice.

It’s his birthday today. He is the age of the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

I wish him a the happiest of birthdays. Or, in the words he uses, “a pleasant day of origin.”

I’m glad he is my son, wish his dad were still here to share this auspicious day with him, and send him my love across life, the universe, and everything.