The tear has fallen off the tip of his chin, but its wet path still streaks his cheek. The green umbrella, the source of his tears and frustration, now sits open next to him on the front porch. I had told him that we don't open umbrellas in the house and he had responded by falling to the floor in the middle of the hallway, his desperate cries drowning out my words.
The three of us sat on the front porch and watched the people walking by on their way to work. I braced myself of the day.