The boy spies the large sheets of paper on the wall, covered in words and diagrams and post-its. He begins to read the words and his eyes ask me a question.
“That’s to help me plan the book I’m writing,” I tell him.
His eyes grow huge. He looks delighted. I have grown and changed in his mind. He hugs me. I have become amazing.
He doesn’t see the obstacles or the what-ifs or the hard work. He sees only the sheer brilliance of writing a book.
I see the nine-year-old he is and the nine-year-old I once was, dreaming big dreams.
I see someone who believes in me.