I insist that you do your homework before you can go outside and play. You shout, “I hate you!”

I won’t let you play unsupervised in the front lawn at the age of 6. You say, “You’re so mean!”

I carry you and your bicycle home after you wreck in the street. You sob quietly on my shoulder as we walk.

I gently wash your skinned knee and you holler, “You’re hurting me!”

I offer you Band-Aid after bandage trying to find just the right one to cover your wound. You scream, “No! Not THAT one!”

I hear the words you’re saying and in response, all I can say is, “You’re welcome; and I love you too, my child”

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