“Seth!” I yell from the kitchen.
“What?” he yells back from the living room.
“Is you is, or is you ain’t my baby?”
He giggles from the living room. I get up and walk toward where he is. Standing in the door way, I look at him. He’ll be ten this week. He’s in a white t-shirt and boxer shorts. Black and white checkered fedora on his head at 7AM on a Saturday.
“Is you is or is you ain’t?” I repeat.
He giggles some more.
I walk over to him. Take his head in my hands, guiding it to nod.
“This means you is.”
I move his head in a “no” motion,
“This means you ain’t,” I say.
He never does dignify my inquiry with an answer, but his eyes twinkle and it’s clear he loves me.
I’m going to take that as an “is.”