Somewhere Between a Man and a Little Boy

As I'm putting your laundry away I stop to look around your room. The hundreds of Hotwheels parked, as they should be, in their crate. I can still see you lying on your belly on the kitchen floor making the best sound affects ever created by an amateur. I can't help chuckling to myself as I sit on your bed and look at the things you treasure. Your dads army jacket proudly on display on your wall next to the American flag. Your many necklaces (only ''cool'' ones) that could never be mistaken for a girls. Then I walk over to your display cabinet. Your most prized possessions. I peek in careful not to disturb the almost museum style set-up you have. I see your baseball trophies all surrounding your first (but not last) home-run ball. Your unopened packages of Hotwheels (each representing something I am clueless of) . Your slingshot and bb guns. Just as a sadness of your lost youth starts to wash over me with the thought of how responsibly you've arranged all this, I see a picture of Napoleon Dynomite smiling back at me as if to say ''Gosh! Get out of my room! Geez! '' Even though you may be somewhere between a man and a little boy... I still know where to find you.