For the benefit of the users who don't know me, this isn't by me, it's by my friend, Ateisa.
AteIsa: I was always wondering why Philip wrote a poem for his father on his birthday, so i decided to make a reason. Enjoy the adorable-ness of my son.
It was Philip Hamilton's ninth birthday. His father had given him a poem book, which the young boy had pored over for most of the morning, but when afternoon came, and his mother called him to the dining table for lunch, Philip saw that, to his little heart's disappointment, his father was not there.
"Where's daddy?" Philip asked curiously, spooning the meal into his mouth noisily.
Eliza shot her son a look. "Don't talk with your mouth full." Then she sat at the chair beside him and sighed, "He's working."
The smile on Philip's face slipped off it, and he frowned at his food. His sister was in the other room. She and his mother had already finished their lunch, and the only reason he was eating his own later than they had was because his mother had allowed him thirty more minutes to read.
He caressed the cover of his new book gently and sighed through his nose.
"What's wrong, dear?" Eliza asked, putting her hand on top of his smaller one. Her face was suddenly creased with worry, and Philip gave his mother an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry," he told her, wiping his eyes.
Eliza swallowed and waited silently for him to answer her question, and Philip finally looked up at her and asked, "Do you know what I want for my birthday?"
"What, dear?" She pressed, her eyes suddenly shining.
Philip looked his mother in the eyes, his own bright eyes a little sad.
"I want father to spend some time with me." He looked down and swallowed, feeling a sob at his throat. "Just for a few seconds, at least." He whispered, gripping his hair and sighing again.
Eliza was completely silent, and Philip looked up at her worriedly to see her eyes - Oh, the heartbreak within them - brimming with silent tears.
Philip jumped off of his chair and wrapped his small arms around what he could reach of his mother and whispered into her stomach, "I'm sorry, mom, that was inconsiderate of me."
Eliza shook her head and kissed his, murmuring, "No, dear, it wasn't. In fact, i'm glad you told me."
Philip looked up at his mother and smiled a toothy smile, and she smiled back. "Because I think I might know what to do."
Philip followed his mother's gaze to his book of poems, and they simultaneously broke into a grin.
The rest of the day was spent with them writing and practicing the poem, and when dinner time came, Eliza went to his father's study and told him everything she and Philip had agreed she would say.
It took much longer than Philip had anticipated, but finally, Eliza came out again, Hamilton in tow. "Your son is nine years old today,"
She was practically dragging him as she announced, "Your son has something that he'd like to say. He's been practicing all day!"
She turned to him, nodding encouragingly. "Philip, take it away!"
Philip grinned nervously and called, "Daddy, daddy, look!" Which effectively switched his father's attention from Eliza to his eldest son.
His mom began to provide a beat, and Philip, in his best imitation of his father's rapid-fire speech (Though he was not yet capable of doing it as rapidly as his father could), he said, "My name is Philip, I am a poet. I wrote this poem just to show it! And I just turned nine. You can write rhymes, but you can't write mine!"
Hamilton had been staring at him, his eyes widening and his grin growing. As Philip paused for a breath, his father, who looked beside himself with pride, cried, "What!"
Philip's nervousness immediately faded away, and in a more confident voice. he continued, "I practice french and play piano with my mother!" He began to bounce on the balls of his feet.
"Uh-huh?" His father said, rather breathlessly.
"I have a sister; but I want a little brother!" Philip felt his voice rising as he said those words quite unashamedly.
"Okay!" His father glanced at his mother with a cheeky glint in his eye.
"My daddy's trying to start America's bank!" Philip took a deep breath and yelled, "UN, DEUX, TROIS, QUATRE, CINQ!"
"BRAVO!" Hamilton cried, his grin wider than Philip had seen it for days. He launched himself into his father's arm, then ran off into the dining room for dinner.
Philip knew right there and then that he could do it - he could blow his father away, and that's what he intended to do for the rest of his life.