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I promise you, I don't go looking for bloggable moments from Charlie. I don't follow him around the house like the Verizon Wireless guy, asking, "How do feel about diabetes now? How do you feel about diabetes now? How do you feel about diabetes now?"

Take last night, for instance. I was minding my own business as I dried him off after his shower and we walked into his room, when he hits me with ,

"Dad, do you ever wish you had diabetes?"

"Well ,," I said, stalling while thinking how best to respond.

"Well, sometimes I do because I don't want you to feel alone."

"Oh," Charlie said with a thin smile. "I thought you were going to say 'no.'"

"Why?"

"You know, because of the site changes and because it hurts." His tone and hand gestures suggested there was a litany of reasons for not wanting diabetes.

"Does it make you feel alone?"

Charlie shook his head, yes.

"You know, Charlie, there are lots of kids just like you with dia ,"

Charlie cut me off.

"I know, but I still feel alone."

"Well, would you ever want to talk to a little boy or girl with diabetes or maybe email?"

"I dunno. They don't even know me," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "We would have to be friends first," he said, making it very clear that a shared disease doesn't automatically spawn or necessitate a friendship.

"Hey dad?"

"Yeah, Charlie."

"What's this?"

He pointed to the thing that he had been pulling, cupping, stretching, juggling, flicking, cradling, inspecting and smooshing the entire time we had our little conversation.

"Oh those?"

"Those are your testicles."