He runs up behind me and throws his full weight onto my legs, tears streaming and mouth uttering words I can't understand.
Calm down, son. Tell me what's wrong.
Her won't let me help.
Who is her?
I pick him up and walk to the kitchen preparing myself to upset one of my children. Wonder which one will win out? I ask myself.
It only takes a suggestion and she wraps her arms around him, sits him on his little red chair that is 46 years old, and wipes every tear with just a bowl of sugar and a spoon.
His own little bowl of sugar to stir and his own little pan to pour it in.
He's all smiles and she learns a way to allow the little one beside you to joy in what is your joy.
She learns a little trouble is worth the trouble and a wait is a reward.
I walk away and look into a day to come to see her face in a little face as she does what she doesn't even know she learned when I taught a child to raise a child.