My Toes Have Brains

My children are a continual source of brightness in my life. Busyness, yes; concern, yes; but mostly brightness.

My youngest is five going on six, but most strangers guess that he is four. This doesn't phase him at all, because he consistently and cheerfully charms the socks off adults, especially ladies. For example, just a few weeks ago we were at a physician's departmental holiday drop-in, our first such appearance as a new resident family. Feeling awkward, I sad down with him on a red leather sofa, monitoring his water bottle. Within seconds, he was grinning coyishly at an obviously captivated middle-aged lady on the opposite couch. "Better watch out," I quipped jokingly to her bemused companion. So, let's call him Charmer.

Well, Charmer is a cheerful guy, like I said. His normal volume is loud. I think he'd be great in theater or opera someday. Anyway, one day he was sitting next to me at the Dining Room Table Theater, legs happily bouncing, humming a little tune. Even his toes were moving this way and that. He articulated, "My toes have their own brains."

"What, honey?"

"My toes have little brains in them. They are just moving and moving and telling themselves to move; I'm not doing it!"

We both looked under the table, smiling at his super-active toes.

"Wow, honey, they certainly look like it!"

I'm still smiling. Charmer had brains in his toes for days.