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BJ jumps out of his skin when a real voice responds. "Welcome aboard, BJ."
BJ screams and hands me the walkie talkie. "It talked back, Daddy."
I pat his head. "It’s a real walkie talkie. Not a play one. Why don't you talk to the working guys?"
I’m of the belief that BJ nearly faints. "Don’t play with me. There aren’t real working guys listening to me. Right?"
"It’s up to you to find out."
BJ makes a grabby motion for my walkie. He presses the button and says a few cute sentences, then has a conversation with my boys—err, guys.
His eyes well with tears. "They didn’t make fun of me, Daddy. They said I was a valued member of the team today."
I hold BJ’s hands in mine. "You are, beautiful boy. We’re going to walk the site, see the diggers, and have a fantastic day. You’ve got all your safety equipment on which is what you need to be a real working guy."
BJ hugs me. Just hugs me. I’m usually the one who hugs him, so I take a moment to drink in his embrace.
I look down, then bite back a silly dumb grin. Despite his tall steeltoed boots, I can barely see BJ’s head over my belly. I feel like the giant that Jack meets after he climbs the beanstalk.
There’s nothing in this world that compares to the hug of a boy. A sweet, precious boy like BJ who truly means it when he hugs me. He’s not faking it, not doing it for attention or to try to get a few bucks. He genuinely enjoys my presence, and this makes me the happiest man alive.
A tear wells in my left eye, but I growl and blink it back. Now is not the time.
I pat BJ’s bum. "Come on. Let’s see some diggers."
BJ can barely control his excitement as we officially step onto the job site. Mounds of dirt sit in various places from where my working guys have dug them up. Diggers, dump trucks, and cranes are parked in various positions.
The way BJ gazes up at one huge crane is almost like he’s staring at the Colosseum. My job site is far more special than Rome to BJ. He finds himself here, just like scholars throughout the centuries found better versions of themselves, real versions of who they want to be, in Italy, in the Vatican Museum, in the various piazzas scattered throughout the city; so too BJ encounters his true self here.
I tousle his hair, feeling like an emperor or a god because I’m showing him this sacred place for the first time. It might as well be a temple.
"I love it, Daddy!"
I produce a small dump truck and shovel from my briefcase.
Marching straight to the middle of the site, I plop it down on a giant mound of dirt. "I’m in trouble. My working guys didn’t show up today, and someone needs to scoop this dirt into the truck."
BJ gets to work right away. He scrambles up the mound of dirt, needing to pause halfway for breath because it’s so tall. Me, being as big as a small pine tree, found it easy to gently set the toys on the mound, but BJ has to crawl. Heh.
BJ picks up the shovel and places three scoops of dirt in the truck. "Beep boop beep."
"Backing up, everyone," I shout to no one, my voice loud and booming. "Heavy load incoming."
Before BJ moves, I stare at him on the mound of dirt. The sight of him, on his knees in his coveralls, his hardhat jiggling on his head, Bob tucked under his left arm, scooping dirt, is the most precious ever.
BJ crawls down the mound but he accidentally topples over halfway and screams as he rolls to my feet. "The dump truck hit a tree root."
I lift BJ up by the shoulders, then dust his nose off. "This is why you wear protective gear, boy. Here, let Daddy adjust your hardhat."
Gods.
I’d hate to see BJ get a concussion because I let his hardhat stay loose.
After tightening his hat, I pat his bum to let him know that he’s good to keep working. He scoops up more dirt, then crawls down the mound.
This time, I hold the back of his coveralls to keep him from toppling over.
I smile proudly as I puff out my chest, clutching his coveralls tight. Not many Daddies could hold their boys like this, no sir. My big size might have dissuaded some men from being with me in the past, but right now, it comes in handy.
