Ben and I went to do a string of errands. It is part of an effort on John's and my part to break up what often turns into a marathon of screen time in the afternoons.
"Come on, Benjamin, let's go to the store!" He can be coaxed, and the change of scenery keeps him in sorts. If that is indeed the opposite of being out of them.
We stopped at the drug store to keep his prescriptions up to date. We swung by the local bakery to fetch a smoothie. Then we parked at the post office, and I handed him the key. He knew what to do.
"Hi, Ben!" a man called as he was pulling out. Ben waved, and said hello. He did not include a name because he could not remember it. Perhaps he wondered how this person that he did not know knew him.
Ben has probably forgotten but a long, long time ago the friendly man's wife used to welcome my three youngest for a couple of hours once a week to explore her playroom, so that I could have a few minutes to myself. I still love her for it. No doubt Ben ran into this man on one of those occasions. Only figuratively, I hope. But in November of 2021, he could not do more than say hi. I feel confident that the man understands.
Ben knows numbers. And the names of characters in his favorite movies. He has discovered Venn Digrams and recently composed one of the voices in Toy Story and the Incredibles, which in case you are not aware includes Wallace Shawn and John Ratzenberger. But addressing actual humans can befuddle him. If you had a number, or a favorite juice he would be more comfortable.
"Hi, 754. You like sparkling grape!"
The angels that hover just out of our peripheral vision know us. Know us well. They forgive our blemishes as quickly as my neighbors overlook Ben's manners. They prefer to notice what we excel at, and pay little mind to areas in which we fall short.
