Pride, Joy

A man who has 'learned' social confidence in adultood, and whose blood runs cold at the thought of audience participation has no right to expect his child to be a bold-as-brass 'pick me!' merchant. And indeed B is not that, and is quite often as shy and watchful as his Dad was and sometimes still is. So I practically burst with pride when he bounced up and down, paw aloft, volunteering to help in a bubble-making demonstration at the Science Museum. Took it all very seriously and remembers every detail of the experience including the name of the older girl he shared the stage with. S and I were both momentarily stricken by the whole thing. Our boy. Sigh...

And he followed it up at the lovely oval paddling pool in the courtyard of the V&A by stripping down to his Spiderman and Friends pants and marching around the perimiter, dipping his feet in and out to make prints on the stone surround, weaving carelessly in and out of other picnicers and paddlers, singing a little song to himself.

And much needed too. Horrible shit keeps happening to my friends. FF is off the chemo because there's no hope left anymore.