In the beginning

I’m 62 years old. Dewberry is 4. I met Dewberry 52 years ago. I was ten and he was 4. Those numbers aren’t typos and they won’t change if you read them again and even again.

I don’t know how long it took Dewberry to reach his 4th birthday. I asked him once and he just smiled and said, “Don’t know, don’t care.” I haven’t bothered to ask him again.

It’s fair to say that Dewberry is different from any 4 year old you’re ever likely to meet. Not because he is 4 but because he chose to be 4 and no more.

Dewberry has been with every day for the past 52 years. At first I thought he was crazy for choosing not to get any older. You see at age 10 all I wanted to do was make it to 16. At 16 I set my sights on 18. At 18 21 became the mark. Well, I’m sure you get the idea. I thought it was normal to live that way. Dewberry didn’t and doesn’t and never has thought much of my ideas of “normal” and he doesn’t hesitate to tell me so.

In the beginning – our first 10 or 12 years together I didn’t pay much attention to anything Dewberry had to say but for the past 40 years I’ve found myself listening to him more and more.