Is This the Little Boy at Play?

I was expecting a phone call. You know, one of those phone calls, wink wink nudge nudge.

The phone trilled. Caller ID? Hm, unfamiliar cell number, all good. 

"Hello?" I said, trying to sound calm, refined, and whatever. 

"Hello, Lea." The Voice was so, so manly, a rich baritone. The Voice of a confident adult, a date who would have the evening planned. My, how promising. 

"Is Zeidy there?" the Voice rumbled.

I was frozen for a moment. Zeidy? Did my date call the wrong number? Then—

"Levi?" 

"Yeah." 

Flabbergasted, I mutely handed the phone to my father, my face purple with embarrassment. Then I laughed. 

My little yingelah. A tinny refrain of "Sunrise, Sunset" began to warble in the background. 

He's going to be sixteen soon, and he was calling for the source of "chayecha kodmim."

Sentimentally, I remembered that time when he was three and stayed overnight, and fell out of bed at 2 a.m. I dragged myself reluctantly from my cocoon, knowing his terror, scooping him up. He, always leery of looking less than macho, cuddled against me. I was as old then as he is now.

Oh, stop sniffling, you sap.