a whole hand

Five is a whole hand.  Five wears stickers on his shirt and his heart on his sleeve.  Five carries stones in his pockets and stars in his eyes.  Five is a little reserved and lot independent.  Five reads the clouds.  Five is a daydreamer and a dawdler.  Five shows how fast the time goes.
Five is sunny and serene, except when he is not.  Five acts his age and his brother's age and his shoe size.  Five is not the middle child he should be.  Five does not waste moments or mince words.  Five recounts scenarios and game sequences in long, hard-to-follow monologues, interrupting himself to add more confusing details in a way that sometimes grates. Until his mother remembers the simple, lucky truth: he is here.

He is here and I am here. And even though five does not need to hold my hand much anymore, it’ll always be here, open for him.