Still Wanting To Hold My Hand

Slice of Life Day 22

I could see his yellow shirt all the way at the front of the pack.  He bobbed and weaved around friends.  Picked up sticks.  Hiked with sticks. Threw the sticks.  Running, jumping, hopping his way down the trail.  I was near the back of the pack chatting with other parents keeping an eye out for the yellow shirt.  There were times when I could hear them all shouting, laughing, tromping through the woods, but I couldn’t see them.  Then running back towards us would be the yellow shirt.  Once he saw me and I waved, he gave me a big smile, a small wave, and turned on his heel to hop, skip, and run back up to his friends. This made me smile to know that he came back to look for me.  He wanted to check.  This continued on.  He ran ahead and out of sight then I’d see his head pop around the bend to give me a head nod and turn right back around.  But then, he saw me and he didn’t turn around, instead, he waited for me to catch up. As I got within earshot, “Hey bud! Having fun?”  “Yeah!” And then in a single motion, he extended his hand toward mine and slipped his not so tiny hand into my grasp.  I squeezed his hand as we walked swinging arms chatting about our hike and his wet, muddy boots.  There is nothing that warms my heart more than my not so little boy wanting to be with me and still wanting to hold my hand.  My hand will always be waiting.  

3 thoughts on “Still Wanting To Hold My Hand

  1. What a heart-warming post. You do such a great job setting the scene and describing actions and emotions. I love what you left out (who was wearing the yellow shirt) and allowed the reader to make the inference at the end. Throughout the piece, I was thinking it was your husband, so it was a bit of a surprise ending. Nice work! Even today, it warms my heart when my adult children reach out to me and let me know they want to be with me.

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  2. Aw, “my hand will always be waiting” just made me smile! I love that! I love when I still get to hold my kiddo’s hands. My daughter asks for it every time we go up the stairs for bedtime. And sometimes, even my son will! It melts my heart.

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