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Monsters No More
If you want to know more about your son: hide beneath his bed and let yourself lie still, quiet, while he rises,
naps, rises, sleeps, then rises again, for seven risings and settings of the sun in all.
Do not speak to him, either words of advice or cries of alarm. When he
does something you perceive loud or annoying, dangerous or ill-advised: Watch. Listen. Learn. And when he, on that seventh day, sees you, playing on the floor as young boys so often do, his eyes will
meet yours, and you will both stare silently into the gaze of the other. Do not
cough. Do not blink. Do not breathe. Be still. Let him smile first. Then smile in return, broadly and genuinely, and he shall soon learn to speak of things under the bed tenderly,
endearingly, remembering always the trust he puts into you and the trust you put into him.
Watch, then, as monsters flee wordlessly until only quiet remains, the peace of which his eyes will hint but tongue
will never speak.
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