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This story began eight years ago. My little man was three, dressed in new white shoes, his nearly white blonde hair combed soft and smooth. I snapped a picture of a nervous smile.
We waited outside for the doors to open. "Is it time yet?!" His excitement was building. Soon. A sunny, smiling face opens the door, and his eager feet now seize, frozen in uncertainty. I use my best mama words to assure. He moves slowly. The little voice, which moments before begged for the time to arrive, now pleads to retreat. Hand-in-hand we move across the room. I draw him into my lap. Nervous fingers move about inside of mine. The circle rounds out with other mothers, laps filled with little people. The warm face that greeted us joins at the top of the loop. She looks into the eyes of my little man with a greeting smile. He sinks further into my arms.
