Monday, March 26, 2012


Man, that kid talks a blue streak. He tells me everything: all about his day, the details of his dreams (except the bad ones, he keeps those to himself), what he's curious about, the fact that dogs love him, observations and critiques of me and my mistakes, why he likes Easter and St. Patrick's Day - everything.

He breaks up laughing, trying to explain something funny that happened, seventy-two times in the course of a completely incoherent narrative, and though finding myself a mildly frustrated listener, I love it.

We stopped by to visit my mother a week or two ago. He really wanted to tell her how much he loves her homemade pear jam and to ask her if she had any more. I'd been hearing about this from him for weeks, but when it came time to do so, he just clammed up. You couldn't pry a word out of him. Later, I told him the polite thing to do when someone you know talks to you is to say something back.

Yesterday we're sitting in a cafe inside a book store. He's drinking ice water. An older man reading next to us in a comfortable looking easy chair looks at him and says, "hi."

Jack breaks eye contact, waits a few seconds, and musters a deep and formal "hello". Then he turns and looks straight at me, "happy now?"

Six years old.

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