You hold Papa's hand when crossing the street. You reorganize the pantry and refrigerator gently instead of tossing everything on the floor. You don't take a bottle. You feed yourself rice kernels from my plate at the Mexican restaurant. You push up your sleeves when I say, "Wash hands." You have an imaginary world. You become excited when you hear the names of familiar and fun people. You are a better birdwatcher than I am. You know what a dandelion is.
You've tasted partridgeberry. I watched you pinch the tiny red fruit between you pointer finger and your thumb, pluck it, and then eat it. I watched you. I knew you can eat it, you knew you could eat it. I wondered what I should do, how do I teach confidence and caution at the same time? Your increasingly precise hand reached for another fruit. I asked you to wait. You held the fruit in your hand. This one was slightly blemished. An insect had tasted it. You turned away and I sampled one of the fruits. I agree, they are sweet. Do I show you that I too eat the red fruit? What about other red fruit that you shouldn't eat? We walked home and once there, I noticed you still had the tiny red fruit in your palm. I placed it on the counter so I could remember your intuitive knowledge of the forest. A couple days later the fruit disappeared.