Bubble

Dinnertime secrets with Duncan, age four.

During dinner Duncan said, “Mommy, can I whisper something to you?”

I usually do not like secret-telling at the table– it is rude to those excluded– but he had been out of sorts since I picked him up from preschool and, not wanting to preclude him opening up about what had upset him, I leaned my ear down close and strained to listen.

“I’m not actually a boy,” he whispered, barely audible.

“Really?” I whispered back.

“Yes.”

“So… what are you then?”

“A bubble.”

“A bubble?”

“Yes. I am a bubble.”

“Who turned you into a bubble?”

“Nobody. I’ve always been this way.”

“Okay… well, boy or bubble, I love you just the way you are.”

And he let out a great sigh of contentment, kissed my wrist, and went back to eating his spaghetti.

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