He doesn’t need rose-colored glasses yet; they’re built in.

These sunglasses have brought Braden great joy for the past few months.

When he first started playing with them, he was a little unsure of what to do with himself. He’d hold them up to his face, turn them, flip them.

Open. Close. Open. Close.

He would wear them on his belly. His navel was protected from the sun’s harsh rays as he spun in circles around our living room, singing.

More and more he put them on his face. Showing them off to everyone. Smiling, laughing. So proud of having them there.

Recently, he broke them.

An accident, really. He dropped them and immediately stepped on them before he could still his forward motion. I saw it happen. One of the supports snapped right off.

I wailed inside. My whole body simultaneously tightened and melted for him. I just knew there would be a complete meltdown.

I was wrong.

He sat down on the floor and delicately picked up the two distinct pieces. He was quiet. His mouth was a tiny, slighty open “o” as he sat there, brow furrowed.

He held them in his hands, looking at them, his face full of questions. *melting*

I bit my lip and I told him that I was so sorry, but there was no way to fix them. *tightness*

He just stared at me with his big, blue eyes. *melting*

I told him that they were broken, forever. *tightness*

He kept trying to piece them back together anyway. *melting*

There he sat, holding them up against one another… over and over again, because he just knew that eventually they’d be fixed again.

That is him right now.

The beautiful, innocent child, blissfully unaware that some things can never be fixed after they’re broken, no matter how hard you try to put them back together.

In my heart, I know that my jaded view is not the one I want.

I want to believe, like he does.

Moreover, I never want him to stop believing that.

Oh world, please don’t take this from him for a long, long time.

Maybe there’s time for me to learn to believe again, through him.