I turn to see him holding that rose, waiting for me to take it. I'm unsure, for a moment, who the rose is from. Did Dad send him in with it, I wonder (because Dad likes to pluck fresh blooms for me), or is this gift from the Man-Boy himself?
"Did you pick this," I ask, nonchalantly as possible. "Mmm-hmm," he answers, adding with wonder, "It was growing through the fence." Man-Boy has found a bit of beauty in an unusual place, and he has brought it to me.
Taking the few steps necessary, I reach to hug him. Gangly arms wrap around me. His stature now having outgrown my own, he must bend to hug. It's becoming a familiar unfamiliar feeling -- the awkward, tentative, different hug of a Man-Boy. One who brings roses to his mother.
6 comments:
lovely words...
I bought ceremic bird on Thursday, thought of you- you'd like them.
this reminds me of the story of the little girl who sees dandilions as the most beautiful of flowers, and not for the weeds they really are.
AWWW that is so touching.
Sweet sweet boys.
That was beautiful.
Laura, I want to hear more of your words. Make me a poem, please.
That was beautiful...it put a great big smile on my face by reading it. If you scrapebook for Man-Boy, this must be included. Thanks for sharing!
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