Happy Birthday

Up late tonight, too many things in my mind to let me sleep. I spent a few hours drawing pictures for the-story-that’s-turned-out-to-be-less-of-a-story-and-more-of-a-comic-book-

or-maybe-a-comic-strip-or-a-story-board-for-an-animated-film-thing that I’m doing for Sam’s birthday and I was just about to call it a night — not because I’m sleepy mind you, but it’s at the point where if I don’t sleep now, I might not sleep at all — when I realize that Sam is already ten years old as of a few hours from now.

On this day in 1994, Samuel Lawrence Camp was born.

The Samuel was for Beckett and Twain and, as I later found out, great-grandfathers on my side of the family to score some points after the fact.

The Lawrence is for his maternal grandfather, maker of scientific miracles and shaker furniture.

And the Camp is for himself of course, a name to grow up with and grow into and — eventually and hopefully — make his own.

But we didn’t know he would be Sam. In fact, I was convinced that he would be Kate. For some reason, I just knew it was going to be a girl.

Turned out, I was wrong.

And so I said “It’s Sam!” to his mom when he was born, that’s how she found out.

He was so little, that first year or so. With his mom in school all day and (it seemed) all night, we went everywhere and did everything together. I don’t really know where the ten years went…

…lying in the hospital, holding him on my chest while his mom slept, literally without a thought in my head.

…pacing the floor with him in the middle of the night, talking to him to keep myself awake, pointing out the books on the shelves and what they were and who wrote them and what I thought of them.

…going in every night for the first two years and looking to see if he was breathing, waking up in the middle of the night with complete dread, wondering if he was okay and too tired to get up and check but too scared not to because this time might be the time.

…meeting his godfather in Summerland every Monday morning for breakfast to talk about religion and marriage and life in general while Sam slept.

…walking up and down State street in Santa Barbara, going into The Book Den (the best used book store I can name) and the comic book store and Vinyl Solution (a great place for bootlegs) and the little Mexican restaurant, just passing the time together.

…putting together something in the living room in the horrible apartment we lived in, dropping it and cussing to myself only to hear Sam toddle up to his mom in the kitchen and repeat, perfectly, the word “Fuck” with such innocent pride and confidence.

…taking him to rehearsals for my first real commissioned play, trying to be a dad and a writer at the same time and, more or less, pulling each of them off far better than I expected.

…getting cornered by a crazy hippie woman in aforementioned Vinyl Solution and being informed that his aura was in fact Indigo.

That’s just a handful of memories from the first year or so. There’s a lot more there, ten years worth .

So everybody listen up: My boy is ten today. Sam Camp is ten years old.

And I would go back in an instant and do it all over again, just because it was wonderful to be with him.

It still is.