A picture can paint a thousand words, but a word can paint your soul

It was a lazy late-afternoon, and the kids were tired of the wading pool. It had been hot and muggy, but it was leaning toward evening now, and decidedly cooling off.

"Who wants a popsicle?" I ask brightly. A squeal comes from my daughter as she jumps out of the pool. My son is a bit slower, but just as excited.

"Pahsickoo! Pahsickoo!" He climbs out, running toward me. I wrap a towel around him and he repeats again, slowly and with a lot of effort.

"Wan pahsickoo? Tony? Pahsickoo Tony?"
"Yes Tony, you can have a popsicle."
"I want blue!" His sister chimes in. She always wants blue. Red is only second best, you know.

I grab the popsicles out of the freezer and head back outside. They're on the swing on the back deck now, side by side in the waning summer sun, swaddled in towels with their wet hair still dripping down their faces. I unwrap the popsicles, handing first to my daughter, who thanks me nicely, and then turn to Tony.

"Pahsickoo!!"
"Here you go, Tony." I smile and bend down to hand it to him.
"Peez!" He squeals, breathless, his eyes on the popsicle like it's a glowing beacon. I ruffle his wet hair and hand it to him, watching him take a cautious lick before stuffing it in his mouth. Wow. He said "please". That's been happening more frequently these days.

"Tony, can you say "Thank You"? I ask. He's mute, to involved in the popsicle to say much of anything. I sigh. I sense the futility of this, but his teacher says we need to keep trying.

"Tony. Tony, look at Mommy." It's a game we play - "Look at Mommy". I say "Look at Mommy" and he does, then he squeals "Wook away!" and I do. He can play it for an hour straight if I let him, but it was a good way to teach him to make eye contact. I use it whenever I need him to focus on me, and it usually works.

"Tony, can you say "Thank you?"

He's watching his melting popsicle now, utterly involved in how the drips slide down the popsicle stick, splashing onto his bare leg or the towel. I'm not getting a thank you this time. I decide to just let him eat his popsicle in peace. It's pretty sad when a simple popsicle has to be a learning experience, but there it is. Life with Tony is all about re-inforcement, focus, getting him involved. Only sometimes a kid just needs to relax and have a popsicle, y'know? He's finished now and hands the stick to me.

"Finish." He wipes his sticky hands on his towel. Tony never can stand to have dirty or sticky hands. In that area, he's light years ahead of his sister, who would cheerfully wallow in her own filth if I didn't force her to bathe.

"Wuke...home." The words are stilted, but he's yanking on my shorts and working hard to get my attention.

"What honey?"
"Wuke! Wuke home."
"Oh! Luke is home!" I look at the neighboring yard, and see that Luke, age 2 1/2 is definitely home, and playing in the back yard. Tony has actually played with Luke 3 or 4 times now. Really played, I mean. As in calling his name and chasing him and making eye contact and interacting. They've lived next door since birth, but till a few months ago, Tony didn't know Luke existed. Now he looks for him, and I'm oh-so-glad when he does.

Tony runs down the slope between our yards, calling Luke's name and the two of them set off in a dizzying chase, with his sister in fast pursuit of the both of them. I smile at my neighbor Beth, and the shrieks and laughter roll around us as we make small talk about our days and the weather and the neighborhood. She remarks about how terrific it is for Luke to have a playmate, and how far Tony has come. The neighbors say that a lot, whenever they see him. I suppose it's true, but they see it more readily, not bogged down in the daily battle of getting to where we are with him. He has come far, though. Sometimes it's a tiring journey, but his road is getting more wide open every day, and the paths he can walk down are branching, forking, twisting and reforming with every "Peez" and every extra second of eye contact. So we keep walking, he and I, and here we are now.

Time to go. I need to get some dinner thrown together before Daddy comes through the door, so I call the kids in. Tony makes an awful noise - I can't even describe it - but it's his unhappy noise. He doesn't want to come in. I walk over to him, scooping him up as he fusses and telling him it's dinner time and we'll come back later.

"Say bye-bye to Luke, Tony."
"Bye-bye Wuke! Bye-bye!" He's rubbing his eyes, his lips pouting. Luke waves goodbye and I start up the slope as Tony continues calling out.

"Wuke! Bye Wuke! Bye-bye."
"Tony, we'll see Luke again, I promise. Maybe after dinner, OK? We have to have dinner first."
"Wuke!"
"Tony, it's time for dinner."

He's silent a moment, still staring off over my shoulder as I walk up the steps to the deck. Then faintly, so faintly I thought I imagined it, he said it. I stop in my tracks.

"Tony? What did you say?"

He points at Luke's yard.

"Wuke."
"I know, Bubby, but we have to say bye-bye for now."

He rubs his face, still pouting, then stares up at me, with those fathomless dark brown eyes. His father's eyes. And he says quite clearly:

"Fwen."

I stare. I thought that's what he said, but he's never said it before. Never had a context for it before. Never applied it before.

"Tony, is Luke your friend?
"Fwen. Wuke fwen."

I sat down on the steps to the deck, buried my face in his neck, and couldn't stop crying. He squirmed in my arms, so I put him down, wiping my eyes as my daughter walked up the steps.

"What's wrong, Mom?"
"Nothing honey. Nothing's wrong. Something's right. Tony's got a friend!"
"Did you hurt your toe or something?" She's looking at me like I'm nuts, but she's used to looking at me like that, I guess, because she tags her brother and screams to him till he follows her in the house.

I sat a moment longer on the stairs, watching the sun start to set, painting the sky orange and red and deep pink tinged with purple. It was like nature just invented a whole new color, just for me, and for Tony. He has changed irrevocably now, and for the better. With one word, he threw a door open to a beautiful world that he could only see through the window before.

He has a friend, and the wonder of it still floods my soul.