Thirteen

When Andy was three years old, he put on his cowboy hat and stood up to sing a song in front of our church.  The song went like this,

If you got trouble, and you need a helping hand, if you got trouble, and you need a helping hand, if you got trouble, and you need a helping hand, come to me, I will be your friend.”

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From the very beginning, this boy knew what “got trouble” meant.  I don’t know whether to say something went wrong or something went right with the development of his limbic system, but he feels everything, for everyone, all the time.   And it wears him out.

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So we try to find good channels for him to express this emotion, instead of aggression and shutting down.  One of these is music.  And he is full of it.

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It also seems to be something that is just inside of him.  We didn’t put it there, and we don’t do much, if anything to make it come out.

Thirteen is hard.  So tender.  And when you are someone that feels it all, it can be paralyzing as well.

I am proud of the way he uses his body to work through it, on the field, in the classroom, through the strings, brass, or snare drum.  He is finding his own way.

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Thank you, Andy, for all you teach us about being human.  You are the real-est person I know, and I am in love with all thirteen years of your existence.

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