04-18-2020, 09:19 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]Though at first hunting down his children had been a challenge, Selby was nearly certain that he had it down to a science now. Ever adventurous, Atticus was the hardest to pin down. Alice and Ivan could usually be found at the library, with their little noses stuck in various novels. Quentin didn’t often venture far from home in his perpetual pursuit of insects. His youngest, Simon, easily located by the beach. A science.
And though he didn’t often feel the need to hover over them incessantly, he did like to check up on them. When he asked what they were doing, it was always out of genuine interest. Joyful explanations of the day’s activities were like music to his ears. After all, Selby remembered what it was like to be small. It had always felt good when anyone, especially an adult, took an interest in him. With this knowledge in mind, he tried his best to encourage them to talk about what they were doing (and if this included a little danger, a gentle nudge in the right direction).
Picking his way down to Tanglewood’s beach, Selby started prepping a list of questions in his mind to ask Simon. He knew he would have to ask about the little tide pools. Maybe he would suggest a tour of the shore, though he had visited the area many times before. It would be nice to get a fresh perspective. Smiling to himself, he could already picture his son’s excitement. Making his children happy was one of the highest things on his lists of priorities, and fulfilling part of this brought a certain sense of warm joy that settled in his chest and curled pleasantly around his heart.
As he stepped onto the beach, a brief scan of the shore showed no signs of his son. It was decently warm outside; the full blast of summer’s heat not yet present in the dead of April. “Simon?” he called, projecting his voice without yelling. “Are you out here?” If he wasn’t, well, the art of hunting down children was not an exact science.
And though he didn’t often feel the need to hover over them incessantly, he did like to check up on them. When he asked what they were doing, it was always out of genuine interest. Joyful explanations of the day’s activities were like music to his ears. After all, Selby remembered what it was like to be small. It had always felt good when anyone, especially an adult, took an interest in him. With this knowledge in mind, he tried his best to encourage them to talk about what they were doing (and if this included a little danger, a gentle nudge in the right direction).
Picking his way down to Tanglewood’s beach, Selby started prepping a list of questions in his mind to ask Simon. He knew he would have to ask about the little tide pools. Maybe he would suggest a tour of the shore, though he had visited the area many times before. It would be nice to get a fresh perspective. Smiling to himself, he could already picture his son’s excitement. Making his children happy was one of the highest things on his lists of priorities, and fulfilling part of this brought a certain sense of warm joy that settled in his chest and curled pleasantly around his heart.
As he stepped onto the beach, a brief scan of the shore showed no signs of his son. It was decently warm outside; the full blast of summer’s heat not yet present in the dead of April. “Simon?” he called, projecting his voice without yelling. “Are you out here?” If he wasn’t, well, the art of hunting down children was not an exact science.