“Hi, bye, my, spy,” he walked in, grinning.
I smiled at the five-and-a-half year old. A head of brown curls and melt-you-on-the-spot dark-chocolate eyes, green glasses, summer freckles, a missing tooth from playground accident at age three, a superhero hearing aid. Pure charm.
“Why, shy, guy, cry?” he challenged.
“Why indeed?” I chuckled.
“Ask my dad,” he giggled. “He told me that one. One, sun, fun, done.”
“You’re rhyming a lot today!”
He nodded. “I’m practicing. My grandpa gives me a dime every time I rhyme.”
For The Daily Post