Face of an Angel
Thirsty for things that are beyond his realm, far and above what little boys should be concerned. He looks at the world around him with a discerning eye. Inquisitive. Seeking more. His world is concrete and solid. Uncertainty and grey confuse him though they do not deter. Frustrated but never discouraged.
He is confident.
He absorbs the world around, processing and analyzing. Hours may pass before the questions start. They are always well thought out and often difficult to answer. Be prepared.
He plays with bugs and mud and fashions weapons from sticks and broken toys. He throws his ball to no one and tackles them as if they were. He is engaging in a crowd, content with solitary.
He laughs and you can not help but join him. He is in a place where you wish to be, where you need to be.
Seven years passes in but a moment.
I once had a little boy. Face of an angel. A cherub. A little boy that hated carrots and spewed vomit like a child possessed. It made him no less endearing. That little boy is gone, long since replaced by the young man before me now. Face of an angel.
How do you encapsulate the essence, the wonder that is a boy becoming? My words are certainly insufficient. My heart inadequate. Fortunately–none of that matters to him.
He’s happy and therefore I am.
Happy Birthday Wildman!
(Zane turned all of seven on August 1. We’ve been celebrating all week!)
Related Posts: A Boy and His Mission
