Normally he's happy to see me -- running across the playground in a dead sprint kind of happy -- but this time, he was slowly shuffling toward me, head down, dragging his backpack on the ground behind him.
He mumbled a nearly inaudible hello.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm mad!" He erupted. "A kid just called me 'little.' I'm not little. I'm six. Six is NOT little. Six is big. I'm big. I'm BIG!"
"You're right, six is big. Was this kid older? Was he seven?" I asked.
"IT WAS A GIRL!" He said, spitting out the words.
"OK, was she older?"
"Yeah," he scowled.
"Well, to a seven-year old, six can seem little, but we know it's not. Six is big."
He threw his backpack into the back seat of the van and climbed inside.
"Six is big. Six can do big things," he muttered.
- - -
Yep, Crowbar, you're right. You're six now and you're capable of doing big things.
You can fix yourself a bowl of cereal, make your bed and help take care of the dogs. You build amazing things out of Legos and draw Batman like none other. You're gentle and kind to your baby sister and can always get her to a laugh when she's fussy.
You're six. And six is big.
Ring pops and Hawaiian shirts. Six rocks.
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