Seven

Sam is almost seven. Seven!

I've always been daunted by seven. One of my favourite authors says a person's character is more or less set by age seven.

I don't feel at all like I've done enough or prayed enough or led by example enough to build in him a strong character in these brief and precious years.

And every now and then I worry a bit. He doesn't like to talk about his feelings, he'd rather learn from watching another kid than listening to an adult, and does he really know, deep down in his soul, how much I love him?

Yesterday, his friend, E, came over to play.  At lunchtime, Patrick asked him if he plays any sports.
E said, "hockey and sockey."
Having heard E struggle with the "er" sound before, I knew he meant soccer.
Patrick, not noticing my frantic eyebrow-signals, asked, "is sockey an indoor hockey game?"

E squirmed, unsure of what to say.

And Sam spoke up matter-of-factly, "E has trouble with saying "er." He plays soccer."

And the conversation rolled on.

I was so proud of my boy.
So proud.

He was kind and forthright. He didn't tease, and didn't ignore the confusion, but he set it right and moved on.

I love my Sam.