Manuel is a constant smile--it's seriously rare to see him without a smile, though he wasn't smiling yesterday when he took my hand and dragged me across the churchyard to show me that other children were letting air out of my truck tires. He had to drag me because he can't speak.
If I could write odes, I'd write one to his curious mind. A mind that I think has simply been neglected by influential adults in his life.
Manuel seems to not be able to swallow his saliva. So it all ends up on his shirt, usually it's a sweatshirt, often crusted with the previous day's saliva, never clean. His trousers are usually torn in the most important places. And thus people doubt his abilities.
He brings calm to my day. Even when he's everywhere he's not supposed to be. Even when he provokes younger children in the preschool. Especially when he does somersaults across the churchyard.
He has deep dimples, loves to look at books, and builds great and grand structures with blocks.
I think that if he was a fruit, he'd be a passion fruit.
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