My high maintenance boy is the sweetest heart. He only groans the tiniest bit when he sees the trying kid down the street coming around for the 12th time today, needy. This kid's a Special One, blissfully entrapped in a man sized body and an island of Self. This time, his bait is Aunt Marli's cornbread. She's baked it up fresh and doesn't my high maintenance boy want some? "No, I've already eaten, thank you, but why don't you tell us about your graduation, Carter?", deftly changing course.
Last week, high maintenance boy waffled slightly over attending Carter's graduation before devoting his entire Saturday to the Big Day. Now he assumes a proud parent's tone as he brags on Carter's mainstream diploma despite his special ed status. Carter is incapable of offering companionship to him, only a mirror that exposes one's soul. So my boy shares without assumption and gives without restraint because this other high maintenance boy is desperate for someone to call friend.
He accepts without condition his bleeding heart's obligation to something greater than himself.
A soul exposed, indeed.