I notice the shakiness in his voice as he came down from bed requesting a drink of water. "What's wrong?"I ask, kind of surprised.
"I hate moving!" his voice cracks, he hurriedly gets his water and heads back to bed. I follow.
"Why are you so sad tonight?" I keep my voice quiet, neutral.
"I'll miss my friends," he breaks into tears.
"You'll see them at church tomorrow," I remind him.
"But tomorrow is the last time," he retorts.
"I know, but we'll come back and visit," I remind him. Remind myself.
"Okay," he settles in his borrowed bed for the weekend, turns toward the wall, conversation over.
"Love you buddy," I say softly, creeping out, my heart slayed by the tears of a six year old boy. (The same boy who I witnessed spitting several times today, who insulted his granny's cookies quite rudely, and punched his sister in the back).
He never fails to surprise me.
pretending and getting real
2 months ago