I hope his idea store never closes

When Tucker’s new teacher came to meet him this summer, he intended to show her his collections and inventions. What he ended up doing was drawing her a quick map and then riding his bike down the block, glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was watching.  If his grin did not reach out and grab her then maybe the crawdad he took into class today will.

In anticipation of back-to-school, I made it a point over the past several weeks to ask him what he’d like to be when he grows up, and to record his plans when he offered them voluntarily.
A sampling of his aspirations at four and a half:
I could be a swimmer when I get big. I’m a good swimmer. 
I'm going to have five babies.  I'll be their dad and I'll teach them everything they need to know.  You can help me name them.
I could also be a construction worker when I grow up.  I know how to build things and fix them. 
Or I will open an idea store. I’m full of those and people could come to my house and get one when they need it. 

I have a sliver of guilt, staying at home and sending Tucker to school.  I want Tuck to believe in himself.  And in others.  And so I should too.  I should step aside and let others love him - our neighbors, his grandparents, our friends, his teachers.  They can’t possibly love him as much as I do, but they can certainly love him in ways I cannot.  So I send him forth, with his own map and a wide grin, and a quiet prayer that others might embrace him too.