“Here,” directed Devon as he handed me a long length of trunk from a small fallen tree, our earlier disagreement apparently forgotten, or at least put aside. “I’ve marked on this log where it needs to be cut.” He handed me a short-handled stone hatchet.
Buddy jumped up immediately. “Papa, Papa.” He grabbed onto the small log, ready to hold it in place for me.
Devon smiled and shook his head in amusement. “Have at it, kid.”
I was inordinately proud of Buddy’s eagerness and need to please. Not that a one-year-old’s efforts were especially appreciated for the work that he was able to actually accomplish at this stage, but they were welcomed because they showed he’d already developed a desire to contribute, and it kept him busy, nearby, and safe.
He was no “Stepford kid.” He got irritable
