Bubbles

To: Boo
Love, Oma and Daddy

To: Boo
From: Fireman Sam

To: Boo
From: The Goldfish

We celebrated Christmas, Part II, today, when his uncle and troup came from Atlanta via New York. He was like a puppy, running around furniture, so eager to see his Uncle Po.

And!


And!


To open the remaining presents. One from his goldfish. This world has not been separated and catagorized for him yet. It is all magical and anything can happen!


"Oma, did the fish really get me a present?"

"Yes, honey, they tapped on each others' tanks and said 'brrrbub brrrbub what shall we get that little boy?' "

He giggles. That open, free giggle of my child, that bubbles into my soul and effervesces in my belly. I soar, feeling proud that I can make him laugh like that!

"Oma, oma, are you joking? Did the fish really get me a present?"
"No. I did. Because the fish can't drive."
More giggles. Bubbles of joy floating on disbelief.

I like that his world is so magical he's still not sure. How can I crush the magic? How dare I squelch his joy? Why should I break the spell that makes his world so delightful? Because even now, in the first grade, his difference is starting to show. I am proud and stubborn and mama-bear about his difference, and I cannot tolerate seeing him be teased by other children.

Why can't my Precious, my Special Treasure, be left to float on bubbles?

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