Tristan skipped alongside his Father, chattering excitedly about all the tadpoles he intended to catch in his jar. "I'm going to get a hun'red tadpoles, Papa," the little boy said. He reached back to tug on the seat of his shorts, in the manner of all little boys whose chubby little bottoms filled out their short pants.
"And you know what, Papa, I'm going to give them all names. The big ones will be Papa Razel and the little one will be Tristan." Tristan took his father's hand and swung on it. "Bend you arm, Papa," Tristan instructed, and when Razel patiently did so, the little boy put both arms on it and swung lifting his chubby legs from the ground.
Then Tristan let go and just took hold of his Father's hand. "Papa, you know what? I love you this much." Tristan spread his arms and grinned up at his father, two little dimples creasing on both sides of his mouth. The little boy pushed one hand through his thick blond hair, the bangs of which hung over his eyes. It had been a long time since Razel had sat a squirming Tristan on the kitchen stool and cut his hair.
"Papa, when we get to the marsh, are you gonna look for tadpoles with me, and can we
go 'sploring into the woods. How come you never let me go into the woods by myself. I'm big," the six year old said stoutly.
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