The sun was just about to rise when my little red-haired sleepy-eyed boy came in to interuppt my reading with his sweet company. He wanted to be close to me. His little body nuzzled close to my side. I felt strong for him, like a shelter, a comforter.
We talked about the important things going on in his life. Like, “How is your construction in the backyard going?” He told me his plans, and they were small plans, but so big for his five-year-old mind. He told me all about the sidewalk he’s making out of mud… “But actually mom, it’s really real cement.” I nodded my head, hoping to encourage his imagination. “There are no car wheels and no skateboard wheels. There are only wheelchair wheels."
I ran my fingers through his soft red locks, the ones that match mine. The ones that tell the world he’s mine. As the sun rose into the sky and shone it’s orange rays through my bedroom window, we talked about the important things in life; like making real-cement sidewalks for people in wheelchairs.