Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Forty-Six
Spring Break = slow start to a Monday.
The pitter-patter of rain.
I stop to take pictures of the budding vines before I walk toward the office door. Oh, wait. I don’t have my computer. The drive back home seems longer than usual.
Daydreaming of 20-minute walks.
Ironic.
Make your own magic.
There are no real relationships here.
Like volcanoes erupting.
“We all learned something today,” I say. “You can’t trust a 12-year-old to make plans.”
He swings. Contact. I watch the ball go over the fence—left field, his sweet spot. I watch as he flips the bat. But it’s not about the home runs. It’s about building confidence in this almost-adult-child.
The read aloud the Urban Dictionary definitions of our names and then the real versions. An honorable summer. A summer valley. A summer sky. I’m noble and he’s a gift from God. We are quite a crew.
