He’s the last born, but also the first born…he’s a boy after three girls. He’s a guy with a plan, a vision. He expects to be listened to, but he’ll also listen with a soft heart. Give him Lego, but don’t give him the boxed instructions. Give him attention by bouncing the ball back and forth for as long as you’ll allow. Them let him roam the yard alone for an hour. He’s happy to find something to do, independent of others.
Let him tell his funny jokes. They all have the same theme. The same four year old theme. Honey, let’s not talk about that, I say, again. But it’s his favourite subject. No matter how dry his jokes, no matter how clever his timing, it still isn’t funny. With age, hopefully, his topic of choice will prove what I believe to be true, that he has wit.
Maybe it’s his age that I’m not fully aware of who he is, or maybe he really does resemble each of his sisters. He can be too bossy, too forceful, just like a firstborn. He can be the happy go-between attempting to quell troubles between his sisters. He can demand attention and be the silly guy who doesn’t want to settle down for the night like his littlest big sister. And he’s smart as a whip, counting to a hundred before he was three. He asked me one day what the last number in the world was…he liked my answer: to infinity and beyond!
Seems to me they are all uniquely crafted, specially designed for some great task…the once-in-a-lifetime, once-in-the-world stamp of individual being. No one will be like them in the future; no one’s been like them in the past.