For brandywine421, Post season 4 finale fic
Response to Brandy's challenge and written for her...it's short and somewhat sappy, actually, a lot sappy.
Response to this picture
Also something of a companion piece to Father
A child's eye
“An’ vat’s my spesal one and vat’s Ewe’s…”
The little boy moved his finger over the paper, pointing first to the blue bauble and then to the pink. The blue one was larger too - the kid obviously had a sound sense of his own importance. The child’s voice faltered: he frowned, his small forehead wrinkling, his lips pursed. He glared for a moment at the drawing and then his expression cleared, defaulting to his habitable sunny countenance.
“An’ Mowe’s is woun’ the back,” he declared firmly.
“Okay,” the adult encouraged.
“An’ fere’s Mawe and Choe and baby Chesis.”
The small finger continued to move over the picture, picking out each part and then looking up for parental approbation - which he received in the form of indulgent smiles.
“An’ fere’s Wudof.”
No question the kid was related to Seth, that reindeer had pride of place in the manger scene. The watcher stifled a chuckle.
“And over here?” Ryan asked, pointing to the creatures on the other side of the tree. Sandy had been wondering about those too.
The child graced his father with a classic, ’are you serious?’ look, highly reminiscent of Seth at the same age - or, now, actually. The look given by a child who possesses complete faith in parental response.
“Vat’s Simba and Simba’s witul boy wion! See, fe daddy wion has a mane!…and fe witul boy wion has a witul mane.”
“Of course they do, silly Daddy. I should have guessed. That’s a great picture, Connor, thank you for telling me all about it. It's great that you put in so much special stuff.”
The child beamed and snuggled in closer to his father. Ryan squeezed his shoulder and then ruffled the boy’s short blond hair. Sandy could practically see Connor’s pride puffing up.
“I’s’ fer Ganma Kertin and Ganpa Sandy.”
“And Grandpa Sandy thinks it’s fantastic too,” Sandy said stepping forward from his vantage point in the doorway. “You wanna go show Granma Kirsten?”
“Yeah!”
Connor raced off, card clutched securely in his fingers.
“So, we have another artist on our hands?”
“Look like it.”
Sandy could hear the pride in Ryan’s voice. He sighed over dramatically.
“Kirsten, Seth, you, Sophie, Ellie, now Connor.” He tallied each name off on his fingers. “All able to draw. No-one in this family appreciates the simple elegance of stick figures.” He grinned. “There’s always Molly and Jacob to follow in my footsteps.”
Ryan quirked an eyebrow.
“Okay, so maybe not.
“You’re so good at that,” he couldn’t help but add, “letting the kids know how special they are, encouraging their talents.”
“Right back atcha,” Ryan replied softly.
Response to this picture
Also something of a companion piece to Father
A child's eye
“An’ vat’s my spesal one and vat’s Ewe’s…”
The little boy moved his finger over the paper, pointing first to the blue bauble and then to the pink. The blue one was larger too - the kid obviously had a sound sense of his own importance. The child’s voice faltered: he frowned, his small forehead wrinkling, his lips pursed. He glared for a moment at the drawing and then his expression cleared, defaulting to his habitable sunny countenance.
“An’ Mowe’s is woun’ the back,” he declared firmly.
“Okay,” the adult encouraged.
“An’ fere’s Mawe and Choe and baby Chesis.”
The small finger continued to move over the picture, picking out each part and then looking up for parental approbation - which he received in the form of indulgent smiles.
“An’ fere’s Wudof.”
No question the kid was related to Seth, that reindeer had pride of place in the manger scene. The watcher stifled a chuckle.
“And over here?” Ryan asked, pointing to the creatures on the other side of the tree. Sandy had been wondering about those too.
The child graced his father with a classic, ’are you serious?’ look, highly reminiscent of Seth at the same age - or, now, actually. The look given by a child who possesses complete faith in parental response.
“Vat’s Simba and Simba’s witul boy wion! See, fe daddy wion has a mane!…and fe witul boy wion has a witul mane.”
“Of course they do, silly Daddy. I should have guessed. That’s a great picture, Connor, thank you for telling me all about it. It's great that you put in so much special stuff.”
The child beamed and snuggled in closer to his father. Ryan squeezed his shoulder and then ruffled the boy’s short blond hair. Sandy could practically see Connor’s pride puffing up.
“I’s’ fer Ganma Kertin and Ganpa Sandy.”
“And Grandpa Sandy thinks it’s fantastic too,” Sandy said stepping forward from his vantage point in the doorway. “You wanna go show Granma Kirsten?”
“Yeah!”
Connor raced off, card clutched securely in his fingers.
“So, we have another artist on our hands?”
“Look like it.”
Sandy could hear the pride in Ryan’s voice. He sighed over dramatically.
“Kirsten, Seth, you, Sophie, Ellie, now Connor.” He tallied each name off on his fingers. “All able to draw. No-one in this family appreciates the simple elegance of stick figures.” He grinned. “There’s always Molly and Jacob to follow in my footsteps.”
Ryan quirked an eyebrow.
“Okay, so maybe not.
“You’re so good at that,” he couldn’t help but add, “letting the kids know how special they are, encouraging their talents.”
“Right back atcha,” Ryan replied softly.