he began to tell me an impassioned tale.
thinking he did not have my attention,
he called out,
I looked up in surprise,
and he was delighted that I was listening,
so he proceeded to tell me his story.
and studied him,
and feigned listening,
but I could not hear him,
because of the loud echo in my ears,
Can it be?
I am used to hearing,
when a child is busy and focused,
and needing the adult at hand.
I have always loved this.
My hair is salt and pepper,
well on its way to gray.
My preschoolers' parents are now
closer in age to my sons
than to me.
I am changing.
This is a first.
It, too, is a term of endearment.
I will learn to love this.