Gypsy Kings Mobile Day!

You had it made special by the homosexual artist fellow who lives down the block. He took the photos you gave him and painted the likenesses onto durable plastic cutouts, allowing you to decide which Gypsy Kings should be wearing sunglasses, which should not.

"Black jeans on all of them," you said. "Faded."

"Like hope in the desert," said the homosexual artist fellow.

You smiled. Your baby's mobile was in good hands.

Your wife won't be there with you when you fasten it above the crib and send it on its first spin. She doesn't understand.

"He's a child and shit," she said. "He should be staring at like giraffes and monkeys and shit."

"I had to wait until I was fourteen before I was first introduced to the Gypsy Kings," you said. "My son will have a better life."

You hold the mobile up to the light and stare at those melodic little men bouncing on their strings. You wish you were young enough to sleep underneath a mobile like this one.

"I'd tell you all what happened to me today," you whisper to the little men.

Finally, it's time. Your son is in his crib, kicking at the air and ogling up at you.

"It's for you Nicolas," you say to your boy. "These are good men, all of them. And they'll take care of you."

From the doorway, your wife says, "Your father loves you Nicolas."

You turn to her. And she joins you by your side, kisses your cheek and stares down at her son. "He has a fantasy, Nicolas. Your father's fantasy is only to make you happy."

You squeeze her close, and you reach up and flick the switch on the mobile. The brilliant little men begin to spin as the first precious notes of a music-box Bamboleo begins to play.

"Today, I gave my son a pleasant dream," you whisper to the little men.

Happy Gypsy Kings Mobile Day!