Pear was always such a funny child. And I mean funny beyond his name. As a baby he was very impassive. Kind of just a cute bean bag.  I worried at first that Pear might be developmentally behind. Then he learned to tie his shoes. He sat for the longest time and just stared at them, deeply contemplating the arrangement of the laces. After about 10 minutes, he discarded the “bunny ears” directions I gave him and proceeded to tie them with a very unique double bow move that I can’t duplicate to this day. Even if that hadn’t given him away, I would have known beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t behind as soon as he began to speak.

A lot of my conversations with Pear involved transit. Being alone with Pear in the car was a mixed blessing. He was a good rider, not noisy or boisterous. The problem was Pear was more than likely going to ask me a question I would not be able to answer. A deep spiritual question that had no business being in the mind of a 4 year old. You hear stories about reincarnated Tibetan Masters etc. Pear made me wonder if someone had stuffed Gandhi and Mother Teresa into the body of a toddler. One day, when his Mom was in her “Christian” phase, Pear asked me if Jesus could save anyone. I’m not much of church person so I am sure I stuttered but I think I finally said something profound like “Um, sure, I guess”. I knew why he was asking. His parents were separated and fighting. I know that he had heard the men at church talking about his Dad’s life. They didn't approve of his Sunday frolics with Budweiser and Football. You would think as conscientious as those men were about swearing that they could avoid the word “hell” around a 4 year old.  “Are you worried about your Dad, Buddy?” I asked him, casting around in my brain for something to say to make him feel better. “No”, said Pear. “I just decided if Jesus can save anyone I am going to pray and ask him to save Satan. That way no one will have to go to hell or be sad anymore.” Out of the mouth of babes. I should have known he would always be one (or two) steps ahead of me. “Do you think people from other churches go to hell?” He followed up. Oh God. Car time with Pear was sure to cause me to break into spontaneous prayer every time. What to say. I didn't want to disrespect his mother’s (current) beliefs but I didn't want to lie to him either. With a sigh I decided honesty was the best policy. I replied “No Pear, I am not sure I do. It seems like God loves us all more than that. But I don’t have any proof.” Pear being Pear, he rolled it around in his mind for a few minutes before he replied. “I don’t think so either”, he said. “My Dad loves me just as much as Dixie even though I like the Packers and they like the Cowboys. I don’t think God is more stingy than Dad.” I could feel the laughter and nearly tears bubble up inside of me. This kid touched me in ways I didn't even know my heart needed. I should have given up and just turned my heart 100% over to him right then, even if I hadn't birthed him. No one could reach me quite like Pear.