"Mom, have you heard a lot of people talking about how one time Mrs. Winter pulled Jesse's hair?"
"I don't spend a lot of time with other fourth graders, but no, I haven't heard that mentioned," I reply.
"Oh. Well I'm glad I don't have her."
I can see him behind me in the mirror while I'm at the bathroom sink. He's sitting on my bed with his school uniform T-shirt on. The PTA mom at the T-shirt booth had suggested we buy the Adult Small, but she was wrong. He's swimming in it, making him look even smaller and more nervous.
When it's time to walk to school, he stops me in kitchen.
"I'm probably just going to hug you now. Is that OK if I don't hug you when we get to school?"
I reach down and hug him tightly, laying my cheek on his hair, which is highlighted with blond streaks from an entire summer spent in the pool at camp. He smells like the baby shampoo I put in his shower because it is gentle on his chlorine-damaged hair.
When we get to school, he forgets for a second that he doesn't want to hug me in public and instinctively moves toward me for a good-bye hug. But then he catches himself and awkwardly sticks out a hand.
"High five?" he says.
"Yup," I say "High five."
I take his sister's hand and we head down the K-3 hallway. I linger in the doorway and watch him walk by himself to the 4-5 hallway until I feel his sister pull me inside.
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