Isaac is drawn to the water. He always has been, and this, like most opposing forces, can be bad and good. Good, because he is willing to adventure a bit more than the average child. Bad, because, well...where there's adventure, one would hope there would be a healthy amount of fear...but Isaac usually has none.
As we skim the ground for skipping stones, I watch my sons hard at work. Ethan, like his Dad, is slow and methodical--calculating each rock for it's diameter, perhaps forming a ratio between mass and velocity for maximum skipability. Then, there's Isaac. Oh, Isaac. No care goes into the stone of choice--except that it must be heavier than it appears, dirtier than most, and completely buried beneath smaller, less superior, stones. (AKA, a boulder)
I watch my 4 1/2 year old hoist his back into lifting a rock like a Norwegian on an ESPN Strongman competition. Cheeks puff out, muscles flex, and knees bow as he hauls it to the edge of the water.
He launches it. 2 inches in front of him, barely making it into the water and hardly clearing his flip flopped toes.
"Whoa!" Is all I hear him say.
He keeps up this rigorous routine until he has literally altered the flow of the river by the massive amounts of earth he has moved. This boy doesn't let anything stop him.
This is why I love him so.
This boy sees a big rock, hidden beneath dirt, thought too big and clumsy to skip...and he digs it up, and sends it for the ride of it's life. He doesn't see the difference between possible and impossible. He is the literal, physical definition of potential.
"Mommy, look!" I maneuver over to him, and he holds out a fist. "I found the moon!"
Keep it up, Booder, and you'll have the world in your hand too.
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