Author Elzanna Zapperelli
My son and his two great nephews were playing. The nephews had such a great time that they asked to come stay with us. I was shocked because my son doesn’t seem to be that kid accessible. He’s a great big, military man, at attention, in manner, etc. He was down on the floor playing with them. He even likes the idea of them coming more often. He has no children of his own, and he should have had a dozen. He’d make a great kindergarten teacher. Who would think that this great big, burly, man’s man would be a little kid’s best friend? Shocking, I tell you.
I also caught my daughter feeding a strange dog. She doesn’t even like dogs that much, but dogs like her. (We’re “dog” people. Dogs know us instantly, and are our best friends. Any dog. Ever. Put a hundred people in a room with any one of us [dog people], and add one dog. That dog will be sitting on our lap within the first fifteen minutes. It’s happened.) Dogs know. She’s not all that enamored of dogs, but they are in love with her. And she (shockingly) let the dog lay across her feet, and she fed him part of her lunch.
My dear, sweet, darling granddaughter works in a prison—as a cook. She has a presence about herself, and she’s self confident. One of the prisoners tried to intimidate her, and with her words, alone, she replied in such a way that he wet his pants. Literally pissed himself, and he ran to hide behind a guard. She never raised her voice, waved her hand, or made a threat. Her “shocking” words were well chosen and direct, and he believed. Who could think that such a sweet thing could have such power?
Shocking, truly shocking.
