Chapter 13
Mia became famous in the house.
I hated that.
Adults called her “little detective.”
She liked it.
Dangerous.
I stopped it.
Not because affection was wrong.
Because I did not want a three-year-old learning that vigilance was her job.
She had noticed danger once.
Good.
That did not make her responsible for protecting adults.
I told staff:
“Do not ask Mia what she sees.”
“Do not quiz her.”
“Do not turn every observation into entertainment.”
Children should be allowed to miss things.
To be wrong.
To play.
Anna appreciated that.
One evening Mia came to dinner with a blue crayon around her mouth.
Every adult at the table froze.
She smiled.
“Blue.”
I nearly had a heart attack.
Then she laughed.
Three-year-old humor evolving into terrorism.
Anna apologized while laughing.
I did too eventually.
Good.
May you like
Color becoming color again.
Not evidence.
