Weeks later, my aunt sent a letter. From a far-flung hotel, stamped in some post office on the other side of the ocean. It was her looping, aching epiphany that scrawled me deep: “I will never forget your daughter’s wild joy in that ball—a happiness like I have never seen in all my travels through all these years. And in the simplest of experiences.” I never forgot—the child-joy of that afternoon … or my aunt’s words. Yes, otherworldly joy, like that. The kind you could search the world over—and find only in a child. I pluck Little-One’s pink-flowered dress from the laundry basket and hold it
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Yes! Thankful for the smiles and laughter of children! So joyful!
