My son isn’t a doctor. He’s doesn’t line up shoes or toys. He doesn’t scream when hugged. He doesn’t count cards, toothpicks, or, well, anything. He’s none of those things
Even when I play-fight with him, he giggles and wraps his arms around me for hugs.
It’s times like this when I’m forced to bare witness to the barest of witnesses.
Defending the home team isn’t just about the people who live in your actual home. It’s about the people who live in your heart.
As his dad, I’ve winced in worry through the years when he would dash away down the block, pull his TV off the nightstand, or try to submerge his face in the bathtub. Him? He’s cool.