The lobby was full of kids, and Cody and I took our wall, feeling pressed. Fortunately, he pulled out his warted thumb and said, "Wanna thumb-wrestle?" And, so we did, employing all the crazy moves that he's created to break the mold of "Southern" old-fashioned wrestling as he calls it (since his mom is from the south part of Missouri and still does some things too plainly).
Finally, the choir teacher came and called, "Okay, kiiiiiiidddddddsssssss. You need to follow me into the gym where we'll start choir." Cody and I gave each other quick glances, and then he was gone, folded into the chattery mix, beginning something new again without hesitation.
I love this boy. He's brave, despite other awashing anxieties. He mixes in and sees how it goes.
When I picked him up, he ran in squealing and ducking; a girl he liked last year is in choir, and, all of a sudden, he was knocked out of any operation of normalcy. We laughed and talked about it (later I had to cajole him to focus on science, focus on pollination, focus on adaptation, focus, focus).
I love this kid. He's a wonderful, whooshing force, a whirlwind sent message to me of energy, and essessence, and joy. Thank you, God, for your awesome gifts.