He had counted the months, then the weeks, then the days. For the past seven mornings, he had run into his father's bedroom before sunrise, climbed onto the edge of the bed, and announced how much longer they had to wait.
Seven days.
Six days.
Five.
And finally, on a beautiful Saturday morning in the middle of June, the seven-year-old Black American boy burst through the bedroom door wearing a bright blue Superman costume with a flowing red cape.
"Daddy! It's today!"
His father, Marcus Bennett, opened one eye.
Sunlight spilled through the curtains of their modest two-story house in a quiet Virginia neighborhood. An alarm clock on the bedside table read 6:12 a.m.
Marcus smiled.
"What's today?"
The boy stared at him in disbelief.
"Daddy!"
Marcus rolled over and pretended to go back to sleep.
"Is it Tuesday?"
"It's Saturday!"
"Christmas?"
"No!"
"National Broccoli Day?"
The boy jumped onto the mattress.
"It's my birthday!"
Marcus sat up suddenly.
"Your birthday?"
The boy nodded so hard that his cape slipped off one shoulder.
"Seven!"
Marcus opened his arms.
"Well, come here, Superman."
The boy threw himself into his father's embrace.
His name was Caleb Bennett.
He was small for his age, with warm brown skin, short tightly curled black hair, large dark eyes, and a smile that made his cheeks round.
His mother used to say that Caleb could turn any ordinary room into a celebration simply by walking into it.
Marcus had not heard her voice in almost three years.
But on mornings like this, when their son laughed so hard that he could barely breathe, Marcus sometimes felt that she had never entirely left them.
He kissed Caleb's forehead.
"Happy birthday, buddy."
Caleb wrapped his arms around his father's neck.
"Do you think Mommy knows?"
Marcus's smile softened.
The question came unexpectedly, as it often did.
Caleb had been only four when his mother died after a sudden illness. He remembered her voice, her favorite yellow sweater, and the way she used to kiss the bridge of his nose.
But some memories had already begun to fade.
Marcus hated that.
He hated that his son could no longer remember the sound of her laugh without listening to old videos.
He hated that Caleb sometimes asked whether heaven had windows.
And he especially hated that he could not give his little boy the one birthday present he wanted more than anything else.
His mother.
Marcus gently pulled Caleb closer.
"I think she'd be the first one wishing you happy birthday."
Caleb considered that.
"Even before you?"
Marcus smiled.
"Definitely before me."
"Would she like my costume?"
"She'd love it."
Caleb looked down at the red-and-yellow Superman emblem across his chest.
"She said superheroes help people."
Marcus nodded.
"She was right."
The boy lowered his voice.
"Daddy, do you think I'm brave?"
Marcus studied his son's face.