When you count you say “1, 2, 1, 2, 1.” You never say 3 because 3 is when Grandpa ends the swing game. You never want the swing game to end so you simply refuse to say 3. I think you’re on to something, and on Monday, March 31st, if someone asks how old you are we’ll just say 2. Deal?
When I ask you what color something is you always say green because is there any other color that matters in the world of John Deere? Unless something is red. Then you say it’s “apple”. I like to think you might have a future in naming paint colors.
You only sing the alphabet when you’re sitting at a piano. And you only sing “A, B, C, C, C…” Because like an exquisite dinner or fine wine, the alphabet is never something to be rushed. It is to be savored.
Maybe you don’t have a kindergartner-level grasp of many things that your peers are working on, but wow are you aware of your feelings.
When a loud noise surprises you or you see a shadow, you run to me crying that you’re ‘cared.
When I tell you that we’re going to a birthday party that afternoon you sheepishly remind me that you’re shy.
When we are getting in the car to go to Lowe’s for a play date with the lawnmowers you wiggle and squeal that you’re ‘cited.
When we look through the Dolly Parton Book of Feelings and you see the Mad Baby you point at him and say anger. And then you scream that piercing scream to let me know you know how he feels.
When we’ve just completed a tickle attack on Daddy, you giggle that you’re having fun.
I’m confident that by the time you go to college you’ll be able to count past 3, know all your colors, and sing the alphabet all the way to the end. Those things will come in their own time. But in a world that tells little boys that their feelings aren’t valid and should be locked away, I can’t express how proud I am that you’re paying so much attention to your heart.