Cas and I talk a lot.
We always have been philosophers, since he was a scrawny nine year old.
He has been well and lovingly brought up by both the Lagoonatic joyful indulgence form of child-rearing and by his equally loving but (luckily) stricter grandma.
His mom, a lively, funny, intelligent woman, has struggled with substance abuse since before his birth, so has never been able to have custody of him.
His dad died shortly after he was born from drug-induced hepatitis C.
I settled down beside him at New Year's
"so", I said, "what are you gonna do to celebrate your 18th birthday ?"
"oh, I'm getting a tattoo!"
"Really? What will it say?"