teach them to adventure

hold my hand, gentle boy

even when you do not want to

i need to feel the grittiness

of your hands

and feel the resistance as you pull back

you are three and do not

need your mother

or at least that is the way

it feels

at times

i know you need me

you are only three

after all

so let me sear

the grittiness and

dirty fingernails and chocolate

chip waffle smudged cheeks

into my brain

before you are off

conquering and adventuring and

being you

growing memories

today we held hands,
and breaths,
as we tip toed into clear,
frigid mountain water
I watched as you carefully
let go of my hand
and then charged knee deep
perpendicular to the current
I watched as you lost your footing
on the loose, silty creek bed
I reached out my hands to you,
but you did not reach for me
independent, and drenched,
you found your own way to the bank
of that frigid mountain stream
I made  note of your autonomy
and closed my fingers around
a gentle breeze

later, dry and eating sandwiches
I lay back on the scratchy grass
and closed my eyes
I felt you beside me
and knew it was the littlest
even though you made no sound
you put your shoulder to my shoulder
and your head to my head
I opened my eyes and turned
your two and a half,
almost three, eyes smiled into my
thirty-one, almost thirty-two, eyes
a toothy grin broke across your face
and your nose brushed mine
I made note of your dependence
and closed my arms around
all of you