He was named after one brother of mine, but looks like the other.
He is reflective, a thinker, a ponderer, a studier. He questions and needs to understand before he believes. More reticent than the others. When hurt he hides to quietly nurse his pain. He has difficulty expressing his deepest feelings. I need to seek him out and search out his heart. I need to pull him close and whisper to him and love him. He is hesitant to climb onto any lap but the very familiar. An independent chap.
I hurt his feelings yesterday when I commented on a bright sun that he had added to his drawing. He covered his eyes and cried. Fragile heart. Aren't we all like that? Unable to handle criticism? Hurt when someone suggests our labour is not adequate? Oh, the fragile heart! I pulled the squirming little fellow onto my lap, my lithe little man, and comforted both him and I. I whispered antidotes to the poisen of my critical words as he relaxed and wrapped his arms around my neck and whispered balm onto my chastised self.
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