I believe my middle child may have been around the block a time or two.
As a toddler, he drew all faces with a short, vertical line in their foreheada third eye, which he consistently referred to as "a hurt".
When he was three, and I told him he could feel his deceased grandfather's love in his heart, he got very quiet and then said, excitedly, "Yes, I feel it! It's growing."
Last year, I had to tell him Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter had died. He was quiet for a moment before saying, matter-of-factly, "Oh. Now he's awake."
On the sidelines at his brother's soccer practice this spring, my girlfriend observed him sitting in the grass with her daughter in lotus position, both their eyes closed and palms up.
Tonight I brought he and his older brother to a fundraiser in an historic Italianate home, for which some friends were playing. We'd never been there before, a sprawling Bohemian mansion, full of Buddha statues and prints. As we were leaving, this wondrous child of mine wrinkled his brow and asked, "Do I remember this place? Or were all those times a dream?"
At such times, I try not to let my jaw make an awkward, clunking sound when it drops to the ground.
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