This weekend my younger kid, a strapping boy we call Bear, turned 5.
He is quite a character, the kind of person that would be hard to write in a novel. Or maybe he’s Marianne in Sense and Sensibility meets Steve Irwin the Crocodile Hunter.
He’s incredibly charming, outgoing, full of enthusiasms and affections. He walks up to a stranger and assumes they’ll adore him. He’s dramatic, falls to the ground or hides behind the garage sobbing because I told him to move so he wouldn’t be hit in the head by a baseball. He makes up wonderful stories and insists on their truth. He has the eye of an aesthete and a builder. His mathematical thinking and ability to translate one concept to another field impresses me. As does his sweetness and warmth and resilience. He’s rarely obedient but wants to be so loved and good. When he’s in trouble he says, “but you still love me?” half question, half utter confidence.
Anyway he’s five. He’s a great kid.