Recently Pam made a comment that Silas has taken playing to a new level. On most days if he’s not reading or drumming on empty milk-powder cans, he’s trying to keep up with his three-to-ten year old peer group. Most of the boys have chipped teeth, so when they tell us, “we’ll be careful with Silas,” we don’t believe them. Their preferred language is French-Creole, their preferred activity: ladder golf. We live on a shared property that does not belong to us, and the yard is part landfill, part auto shop, and part daycare. There is no shortage of hazardous debris to land on. At the first sound of his friends, Silas is sitting on the floor putting his shoes on. With permission he runs out the door and leaps off the porch, usually face-planting. He picks up critters dead-or-alive. A couple weeks ago he chased a chicken through a cactus fence. He kicks a soccer ball better at two, than I did at twenty. Yet when Curious George gets in trouble, Silas is overcome with empathy for the poor monkey and his eyes well up with tears. It brings us joy when he sings Jesus Loves Me at the top of his lungs. But this same little guy can run around singing yo-ho, yo-ho…pirate’s life for me! A sweet boy and a true son of the Caribbean, I guess?