As I'm putting your laundry away br I stop to look around your room. br The hundreds of Hotwheels br parked, as they should be, in their crate. br I can still see you lying on your belly br on the kitchen floor making the best br sound affects ever created by an amateur. br I can't help chuckling to myself br as I sit on your bed br and look at the things you treasure. br Your dads army jacket br proudly on display on your wall br next to the American flag. br Your many necklaces br (only ''cool'' ones) br that could never be mistaken br for a girls. br Then I walk over to your display cabinet. br Your most prized possessions. br I peek in careful not to disturb br the almost museum style set-up you have. br I see your baseball trophies br all surrounding your first (but not last) br home-run ball. br Your unopened packages of Hotwheels br (each representing something I am clueless of) . br Your slingshot and bb guns. br Just as a sadness of your lost youth br starts to wash over me br with the thought of how responsibly br you've arranged all this, br I see a picture of Napoleon Dynomite br smiling back at me br as if to say br ''Gosh! Get out of my room! Geez! '' br Even though you may be somewhere br between a man and a little boy... br I still know where to find you.