My forth grader received a note. A five to six sentence declaration of feelings, slipped into his textbook, discovered at home to the squealing delight of his younger sister. It reminded me that I too, long, long ago, scratched out bold proclamations of affection on small scraps of paper. Paper! Imagine that. For a moment my wife and I wondered whether this was the real McCoy or just a practical joke crafted by his guy friends. Our forensic analysis led us to the conclusion that boys would not have used the origami square upon which the sweetness had been composed nor be nuanced enough to dot the “i” in his name with a little heart. I spent time looking at the note, scrutinizing the penmanship for clues, charmed by the texture of pencil on paper, remembering the courage it took to act on my desires and was comforted by the thought that some things are still the same.