Holding hands is a promise to one another that, for just a moment, the two of you won't have to face the world alone.
G(8) won't hold my hand in public any more. Not when we're crossing a busy parking lot, not when we're looking for a seat in church, and most definitely not when we're anywhere near other kids. I've spent the last 15 years holding the hand of a child in some capacity or another. And in a few
months weeks, I'll have two new hands to hold. But in the meantime, it's a strange, lonely feeling to reach out and not be met by the grip of a sweaty, sticky little hand.
Maybe he thinks he's ready to face the world alone. I'm not sure sure I am.
|G(8) getting his bunk set up at Cub Scout camp earlier today. He already looks more grown up than I'm ready for.|