“Hey kiddo, how’d your day go?”

“It was, I did, I think it was, uh, good.”

“That’s good to hear, buddy. So… did anything interesting happen?”

“I dunno. Mama picked me up from school, and she, and we walked down the bridge, and there—oh, and there was a man on the bridge!”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah daddy, but he was on the bridge. Like—“

He laid one of his hands flat, and then put two fingers on his opposite hand on top of it to mimic a person standing on top of something.

“Well that’s not how you’re supposed to walk on a bridge! Silly man… what happened when you saw him?”

“He was, uh, he was crying, and Mama told me to stay away, but I didn’t wanted to because he was sad. So I went up to him and I grabbed his leg, and I, and I said ‘why are you crying?’ because he was crying.”

“Yeah, I think you mentioned that he was crying. What did he do when you grabbed his leg?”

“He came down and, and he picked me up! Like this like big!” He stretched his arms high over his head, and then wrapped them around himself. “And then he hugged me, and then he said thank you, and then I saw a bird and—“

I sat there and kept a level smile as my son continued to tell me about his day. My gaze drifted once more to that number floating above his head, and I couldn’t help but feel a spike of tears in my eyes.

-1.