Monday, October 13, 2014

The Inocence of (My) Man

Brad can't tell me whether you are a boy or a girl, but put a young woman with blonde hair in the room and you will find him close at hand. Verbalized or not, he seems to have this one figured out.
Brad doesn’t know if you are young or old, gray-haired or not. He does know when you are someone who likes him.

I try not to describe people as fat or thin, but when I ask if they are short like his mom, he can usually report back on that one.

When we went to the Jamie Grace concert, he described her as “the black girl with the yellow dress,” so apparently he does notice skin color.

He doesn’t know it might offend you for him to identify that. He just knows he likes to “jam out” and Jamie gives a great concert.

There is an innocence in not knowing or noticing these things.

Brad notices the person. The soul. The eyes that know him, that recognize him, and are kind to him. 

He sees to the heart  and will steal yours, if you let him.

My Innocent Man

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