Danny hands me the macaroni abomination and says, this is a picture of how much I love you. I take the thing and hold it in front of my face, blocking his view of my confusion. I say, thanks kiddo, and try to mean it enough for him to feel it. I have friends with kids that play the cello, cook gourmet meals, read at adult levels and see their parents psychiatrists. I have Danny who makes gluey, macaroni messes, can’t remember half of the alphabet, loves me unconditionally and makes me feel like I got the better deal.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.