My son turned six last week. That’s him beside me and us beside the creek that runs beside our house. The nearly identical clothing isn’t intentional, it just sort of happened. If you asked him, he’d say he was just trying to look like his daddy. If you asked me, I’d say I was just trying to look like my son.
We’re buds, he and me. Father and son first, of course. He knows the rules of the house and is expected to follow them. Knows he’s supposed to keep his room clean and take his plate to the kitchen after dinner and that he’s allowed only an hour a day for his Nintendo DS. He doesn’t like those rules sometimes, and sometimes he’ll do his best to challenge me. But it isn’t often and it’s never for long and we’re always good in the end.
Last night after cake and ice cream, we sat on the porch and talked. Even now and though he’s not really aware of it, he’s beginning to understand the Way of Porch Sitting. It’s a lot of rocking and a lot of looking. A lot of saying “Yep” and “Mmm-hmm.” A lot of contented sighing.
Also a lot of conversation. Six-year-olds know more about the world than you might think, and they’re not shy about their opinions.
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