Damonie, I want to remember that you are a child — even when, in your anger, you break the eraser I gave you that morning in half, and the pieces lie in crumbs of pink rubber. I want to remember that when I told your dad how proud I was that you did turn it around, your choices showing your ability to shine — you reached your arms out to hug me goodbye.
You are so eager, and I hope you always will be.
