We’d hardly parked in my in-laws driveway when the kid who flew over his handlebars the afternoon before–the kid with five band aids on his face–sprung from his seat in his Christmas duds.
It was when I turned to smooth his collar that I even noticed a wooden match taped to his vest.
A match we removed to his single protest, “but I found it.”
Inside with cousins, our two had no problem being themselves.
And at the Christmas Eve service, though the rest of us may have come for the chorus of “O, Come All Ye Faithful,” this guy came for the lit candle.
The sight of Christmas morning presents had this effect.
And gratitude took this form.
But when the last of the wrapping paper had floated to the floor, this is what I found.
Two kids. One in pjs, one in half a dress. Both enrapt by the same screen. Both in on each other’s joy.
Her and him.
Him and her.