Faith

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Today, as I sit down to write this post, Squirts sees me pop open the computer and asks me what I’m doing. I tell him I’ve got a little work to do. He says he has work to do too, and asks if he could get on the other computer. For him, that work is ridding the world of bad guys and aliens on online games for kids.

And he takes his work seriously! He jumps up and down when he makes a good shot. He stands up in his chair and punches away at the keys as the action intensifies. The expressions on his face squeeze and pinch into shapes never seen before. He provides constant background dialogue of “Pow, pow!” “Get away you little guys!” “Hi-Yas!” and “Gotchas!” throughout the game.

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You know what a super ball is, right? It’s one of those small rubber balls you get for a quarter out of a vending machine at the grocery store. When thrown, it ricochets from the wall, the floor, to the wall, to the ceiling and back again at speeds and angles that seem to defy the laws of physics.

At times, if you stopped and watched Squirts from the far end of a large room, you might think he was trying to catch one of those super balls just after being bounced against a wall. But as you got closer, you would probably begin to wonder what happened to the ball? Then, as you got even closer, you would realize, there is no ball. That’s just Squirts-in-motion!

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One night this week, I was in the family room listening to Squirts and his mommy go through the nightly pre-bedtime ritual: brush teeth, use mouth wash, go potty, and head to bed, all narrated with a steady chatter of dialogue between the two. But then, as they moved from bathroom to bedroom, the normalcy of the routine was broken. Squirts punctuates the ongoing conversation with an appropriately confused, “What the hell?!”

Yes, our four-year-old son busted out with “What the hell?!” And, I later learned, he had used the phrase in a correct, though totally inappropriate, context. The outburst was, of course, followed by his mommy’s calm, but insistent explanation about the evils of words like that. Squirts apparently understood the potentially dire consequences of the phrase he’d just used, because the last thing I heard him say before the bedroom door closed was, “Mommy, please don’t tell daddy what I said.”

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Squirts has so many memories of his Papa (my wife’s dad) that the most random things will stir some recollection he is compelled to share with us. If we pass a certain restaurant, Squirts will point it out and say, “Oh, my Papa loves Chuck E. Cheese!”

Sometimes when we are eating a meal, Squirts will remember some of his Papa’s favorite foods. “Oh, my Papa loves mint chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce just like me.” Of course, he remembers some of his least favorite too. “Oh no, Papa doesn’t like peas either.”

Apparently Papa had some interesting careers as well. At different times, Squirts has told us that his Papa drove an eighteen-wheeler and that he was a pool lifeguard.

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