Cammy and the house

My boys.

My boys, on our trip to the East coast this Christmas break.

One time, when Cam was four years old, we spent the afternoon at the beautiful, recently remodeled home of a friend who (unbeknownst to Cammy, of course) was in the midst of a great deal of marital trouble. Everyone was outside, all the kids were playing in the pool, it was a lovely day. Cam told me he had to go to the bathroom; I said, “Go in the kitchen door and the bathroom is right there,” but he asked me to come into the house with him. Unusual, but whatever. About an hour later, same thing. A few minutes after we came out again, Cam returned to my side. “I left one of my Ninja Turtles in the kitchen,” he said. “Okay, honey, go in and get it,” I said- and Cam asked yet again, “Will you come into the house with me?”

I looked at him. “What’s wrong, buddy?” And Cam– who to this day has this same, otherworldly sensitivity to the feelings of others– said, “I don’t want to be in that house by myself. That’s a sad house.”



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