I don’t want to tell you. It’s embarrassing.”
My nine-year-old son uttered these words recently as we sat on the couch in my favorite room of our home. I don’t even recall what we were talking about, but he had grown suddenly quiet, and a look of intensity and contemplation came over his face. When I asked him what he was thinking, tears began to well.
It took some gentle prodding, but he finally braved the risk of confession. “When I read my stories, I sometimes pretend that I’m in them.” A sense of amused relief washed over me, and I quickly leaned in to comfort him. But he interrupted.
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