jmgoyder

wings and things

Baby brother

This is my baby brother, M, who turned 50 today – 50! I can’t believe it. This photo is from about a year ago.  As you can see he is a big man – 6’4″ – and being a great fisherman is just one of his many talents. He lives four hours away from us with his beautiful wife and their three children on a big block of forest where he built his own house with his own hands.

He isn’t just a big man in terms of height; he is a big man in terms of his heart – a gentle giant with two older sons (yes, he has 5 children altogether) who have inherited his looks and different bits of his fantastic personality.

I was four when he was born and my other brother was two. When M came along he was such a novelty with his huge head, blonde hair and angelic face; he was definitely the cutest of all of us!

He’s still pretty cute even though he is now so old – ha!

Happy birthday little brother!

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Ghost train

Last night Ming and I watched one of those poltergeisty movies and we were so terrified throughout that it became funny and I couldn’t stop laughing! It reminded me of the ghost train incident of many years ago.

The memory still sits in my gut, raw, un-relinquished – a regret that I can’t rewind and delete. I comfort myself with the thought that all parents do heaps of things unthinkingly, unwisely – don’t they?

Tentatively, I reminded Ming about the ghost train the other day, and he giggled. Momentarily relieved, I assumed he was over it. But I couldn’t help noticing that his giggle was accompanied by a slight frown, a slight blanching of the complexion, even a slight stiffening of the limbs.

He was around three years old at the time. We were having a holiday in Adelaide, when we decided, on impulse, to go to the Adelaide Show.

Ming was terribly excited by the crowds, the fairy floss and the ghost train billboard advertisements. He kept pointing to these and saying, “Ming wanna go on that thing, Mummy – pweese!” He was fascinated by the pictures of ghosts, skeletons and monsters.

So I bought us tickets, told Anthony we’d meet him in the closest coffee shop and Ming and I waited in the queue. This is when I had my first tiny qualm. Children much older than Ming were coming out of the ghost train ride looking a little worse for wear and I got a bit nervous. Then, all of a sudden, it was our turn and we were strapped into the tiny cart and off we went.

Just before those horrible black doors opened and we were whooshed into the 2-minute nightmare, I whispered to Ming, “None of this is real, darling – it’s all pretend.” Why, oh why, didn’t I say this to him earlier?

At the halfway point, he was so terrified that, seeing a tiny crack in the wall to the outside – a sliver of light, a glimpse of another queue – he screamed, “Ming wanna go back!” But it was too late. Our cart was thrust, once again, through another set of black doors, and red eyes, ghostly hands and skeletal breath seemed to touch us as we progressed, surrounded by the bloodcurdling screams of those behind and in front of us.

I held Ming close as he began to cry. His fear was so potent that my own heart started to race with remembered childhood nightmares of spooks, of bogeymen – the dark fear of the unknown.

Then, whoosh, we were back in daylight. It was over. I picked Ming up and hoisted him into my arms. He was trembling. I hated myself.

In the car, on the way back to the motel, Ming remained silent while I told Anthony about the ride, how scary it was and how badly I felt. But Anthony just laughed and said, “I’m sure Ming’ll survive, Jules – you worry too much.”

Then, from the back of the car, came a querulous voice. “Andony?  Mummy and me neeely got gobbled up by the monsters, but we surbived.”

I made my decision then and there: no more ghost trains. Ever!

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Pokemon!

Before Ming was eighteen months old, I had over three huge albums with photos. I couldn’t bear to get rid of any of these pictures of Ming, even the ones in which I’d accidentally missed his head completely and all that could be seen was a torso, a nappy falling off and stubby, grubby little legs.

Those faulty photos, in which Ming’s eyes glowed bright red, became his favourites. “Ming dwagon – Mummy look!” he’d exclaim, delighted.

I’d show my albums to anyone who seemed remotely interested, but it wasn’t until my mother got a fit of the giggles that I realized I was overdoing it – just a bit.

“Julie, all of the photos for fourteen pages are exactly the same – just Ming sitting in the baby bath,” she laughed.

“No they’re not, Mother,” I said, indignantly. “Look closely – in this one he has that coy expression; in this one he’s twitching his nose; in this one he’s scrunching his eyes; and in this one he has bubbles all over his cheeks. And see, here, over the page, the light is slightly different, so his eyes look bigger and….”

By this time my mother was hysterical with laughter. “But it looks like pages and pages of quadruplets,” she spluttered.

It was months before I took another photo!

Eventually I got my ‘photographer’s’ confidence back, but by this time Ming had, unfortunately, developed whiskers. Not real whiskers, of course, but black texta does have a certain texture about it, especially if applied thickly and often.

It was the Pokemon creature, Raticate, who provided the inspiration. Raticate, being rat-like, had whiskers that Ming just had to have. His first attempt wasn’t so successful; he ended up covering most of his face from the nose down with black lines and then got a terrible fright when I showed him a mirror.

After that, it was my job to draw the whiskers onto Ming’s face. Ming became more and more particular about each hair-like stroke of the texta. One application would last around three days because he violently resisted having his face washed. “MING’S RATICATE WHISKAS! MING’S RATICATE WHISKAS!” he’d yell repeatedly, frantically avoiding the sponge.

The trouble with all of this was that I wanted to take the next series of Ming-photos and the whiskers didn’t fit my vision of cute. Neither did the fierce scowl that accompanied the whiskers, for a truly authentic Raticate look.

But, like many things, I got used to the whiskers, so much so that after awhile they just seemed a natural part of Ming’s face. I started taking photos again. So I now have two albums of identical photos of a severe looking two-year-old boy with what looks decidedly like a moustache! The phase only lasted a few months. Gyarados succeeded Raticate and, although Gyarados didn’t have whiskers, he did do a pretty effective water attack. “SPRISE ATTACK!” Ming would yell.

Give me whiskers any day.

I miss Pokemon!

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Love story 108 – Ming’s tail

From the ages of about two to four, Ming wore a tail. At first it was a skipping rope with one handle missing. I’d get him dressed and tuck one end into the back of his shorts and off he’d go. The rest of the rope would drag on the ground as he walked, ran and played. The tail became so much a part of Ming’s identity that if we couldn’t find it there would be a frantic search.

Anthony I got used to shouting desperately, from opposite ends of the house, “Have you seen Ming’s tail?” This became our morning routine!

During this period, even though he didn’t always wear it at home, there was absolutely no way Ming would leave the house without his tail attached. “Where’s my tail?” he would wail. Once, when we couldn’t find it, and then I remembered it was soaking in the laundry sink, I had to ring the pre-school teacher to say he’d be late because his tail wasn’t dry yet. This happened a few times so that even she began to see this as a perfectly normal excuse for being late. She told me once that she’d had to speak to the whole class about not touching Ming’s tail after it had been pulled out once too often and he’d dissolved into furious tears.

Inevitably, the skipping rope split and we had to find another tail, before the trauma of not having one left long-term psychological damage. Not to Ming – to me! I just couldn’t imagine him without his tail.

Ming was surprisingly mature about the disintegration of his old tail after I said that, of course, we’d get him a new one. “I’m sad but I’m okay, Mummy,” he said stoically. “I’m gwowing up, so I jus’ need a black furry one now,” he reassured me.

This happened on a Saturday, so I left Ming home with Anthony (well Ming wouldn’t come to town tail-less anyway). I searched the toyshops all morning in vain. Each time I asked, “Do you stock tails?” I’d get a bewildered response. I could have bought another skipping rope or any sort of rope, but Ming had graduated to black and furry and I respected that.

I rang Anthony who told me that Ming had been weird all day – not himself at all, quite moody, in fact. “He says he doesn’t feel good without his tail,” Ants said, laughing quietly.

We made the quick decision to give him a black woollen tie of Anthony’s that he had only worn once before anyway. “You’ll have to run out to the car when I get home so he thinks I found one in town,” I said. And that’s what we did. When I got home, Anthony and Ming raced to the car but Anthony won and secretly tucked the tie into my bag while we both told Ming to close his eyes and open his hands.

I put the tie into Ming’s hot little hands and he opened his eyes. He stared at it for what seemed like ages before he looked up at me, tucked the narrow end into the back of his pants solemnly and said, with serious joy, “It’s sooo wicked; look, Andony. Isn’t Mummy awfulsome!”

What a relief, and I took all the credit even though it should have gone to Anthony.

I wish Ming remembered these days.

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First crush

It was mid-semester break at the local university where I worked so I took Ming in with me. He was nearly four. I’d only done this once before and it’d been a disaster because there was nothing for him to do except run up and down the hallway, vrooming, which wasn’t really appropriate at exam time.

This time I had a drawer full of paper, textas, finger puppets, matchbox cars and chocolate frogs ready, and for awhile this worked really well. I closed my office door and started preparing for the following semester while Ming played and drew pictures happily on the floor.

Inevitably, Ming got bored, so finally I opened my office door and told him he could go up and down the hallway quietly. He raced out.

After a few minutes I realised it was just a bit too quiet and, worried he’d wandered outside, I darted into the hallway just in time to see him dragging a chair from one of empty lecture rooms into the hallway and across to another lecture room. This was a big job for a little guy and I retreated to my doorway and watched, unnoticed, while, grunting with exertion, he finally propped the chair up against the closed door.

I knew there was some sort of community seminar going on in that room and earlier I’d bumped into the woman conducting it and said a quick hello. She’d seen Ming and crouched down at his eye-level and ruffled his hair, saying, “You’re a handsome devil aren’t you!” But it wasn’t until I saw him clambering onto the chair to look through the small window into the room where she was giving some sort of presentation that I realised how much impact she’d had on him.

I tip-toed up behind him to watch this woman through Ming’s ‘little-boy’ eyes. She was certainly beautiful; she was young, slim, olive-skinned and her black hair fell to her waist. Ming was so transfixed that he had no idea I was there until she suddenly noticed us peering in. She was so startled that I whisked Ming off the chair and back into my office, embarrassed.

But, much to my surprise, he ran straight back and picked up the chair, which had fallen over, and clambered onto it again to have another look. I quietly left him to it.

A few minutes later, I heard voices in the hallway, indicating that the seminar had finished. Ming toddled back into my office, an ecstatic smile on his face.

“Come an’ look, Mummy,” he said, pulling me away from my desk and into the hallway. The woman was walking away but, for some reason, she turned back and saw us watching her. She waved, and Ming waved back. Then she was gone. He sighed.

“That’s a bootiful womin, isint it, Mummy,” he said, looking up at me, his eyes full of light. I was flabbergasted. Was he in love?

It took weeks to wear off!

…..

Now that Ming is 18 he has experienced a few more crushes and been crushed by them as we all are at that age. It is strange to think that I was, at his age, falling in love with Anthony. I wonder who Ming will end up forming a relationship with and I hope she will be kind to him like the woman in the story above. If she isn’t, I will bop her!

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The happy tears!

[I love remembering this kind of thing!]

Ming and I had gone to Bunbury specifically to search out and buy the latest Beyblades DVD, number 2, which had just come out. He already had number 1 so he was terribly excited that I was going to buy the next one for him. He loved these not-too-often, special occasions which he called “shopping spwee days.”

As usual it took a couple of hours to find it as two of the three mains shops that stocked that sort of thing had already sold out. But when we hit the third shop, hurray! Not only did they have Beyblades 2, they even had Beyblades 3!

Then came the crunch. As Ming held the two DVDs in his hot little hands, I told him that he had to choose one. He looked up at me longingly, a deep frown creasing his little forehead, then he looked back at the DVDs. “It’s a vewy differcult desishun, Mummy, isint it?”

I explained that I couldn’t afford both of them and that, even if I could, I didn’t want him to turn into a spoiled brat.

“But I haven’t been nawdy for millions of days, Mummy!” he said, trying to outmaneuver me with a winning smile. But it didn’t work. Well, not at first.

“One DVD and that is that!” I said in a mock stern voice.

“Okay,” he said with a big sigh. “But I havta siddown to fink.” With that, he plonked himself onto the ground and studied every detail of each DVD case for a good ten minutes.

Finally he leapt up and yelled, “Quick Mummy, I done my desishun!” He was obviously wanting to move fast before he changed his mind, which had happened on other occasions – sometimes too late.

Ming had chosen Beyblades 2,but his expression of deep regret as he put back Beyblades 3 got to me, so I secretly picked it up again when he wasn’t looking. I told him to go and check out the other DVDs while I made the purchase. I’d decided to surprise him by buying both.

After putting the package of DVDs in the car, we went to Hungry Jacks which was always part of the “shopping swee day.” Munching on his chips, Ming looked at me thoughtfully. “I fink I shoulda got numba 3, Mummy”. Again the frown.

“Maybe next time,” I said.

“Someone else’s widdle boy’ll get it,” he said sadly.

In the car, before we took off for home, I suggested he take a look at the DVD, so, excited again, he opened up the package. I glanced over to see the shock of his discovery washing over his face, but he didn’t say anything. He just looked up at me, bewildered.

I wondered why he was so quiet, then I saw that his eyes were filled with tears. “Ming!” I exclaimed, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m cwying from happiness, Mummy, look!” He wiped his eyes with the collar of his shirt and showed me the wet patch.

“Weal dwops! That never happened to me before!”

Ming was so blown away by his happy teardrops, that he nearly forgot the extra DVD. I was quite touched.

But as I started the car, he recovered (with remarkable speed, I thought later) and said, “When is numba 4 coming, Mummy?” with a mischievous grin.

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Payback

It was the Mother’s Day morning tea at kindy. I’d never been to one, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.

All I knew was that Ming was excited about a “poortrit” he’d done of me. “It’s deesplayed,” he said, twinkly-eyed.

Well, five-year-olds are always twinkly, aren’t they? Never devious, surely. Or so I thought.

The day arrived and I wandered through the classroom, searching the walls for an image of myself. Having given me a general tour of the room, Ming had abandoned me to go and play.

We were all given a cup of tea and asked to sit down while the children passed around plates of scones, cake, timtams and twisties.

Once everyone was comfortable, the kids were summoned to sing their Mother’s Day song. By then I’d found Dillan’s and Danny’s mothers and we all got a bit choked up when those twelve five-year-olds sang the last line – “Mum, you aaaarrrre the best.”

Once the performance was over, we were then allowed to roam free once again. Mrs Segal told us all to take special notice of the wonderful portraits drawn by the children.

“Have you found yours yet?” Danny’s mum, Heidi, asked me, grinning strangely.

“It’s a real winner, Julie,” said Dillan’s mother, Sandra, giggling.

“No, I haven’t found it. Ming never stops drawing – he’s become very accurate,” I said, pleased they were impressed.

“Oh, it’s definitely very good,” said Heidi, with what seemed decidedly like a smirk.

“It might not be quite accurate though,” said Sandra.

Were they being sarcastic about my little Picasso? How dare they! But all I managed was a defensive, “Oh, well, he’s really keen, he’s trying hard. Maybe he just didn’t get exactly what he was supposed to do.”

Their laugher still echoes.

Heidi and Sandra took me by each arm and led me back to the portrait wall. Suddenly, several of Ming’s friends surrounded me. One of them whispered to me, “It’s the next one, Mrs Goyder,” then ran off, laughing. I looked around to find Ming behind me, pointing and smiling proudly, but somewhat sheepishly.

I looked back at the drawings, still unable to find me, until Dillan grabbed my hand and took me directly to Ming’s ‘Mum’ portrait.

The shock of it! The freckles were exaggerated, but I put that down to the Ming’s artistic immaturity. The slash of red lipstick was crookedly accurate though.

It was the thick, arrow-like eyebrows that struck me most. They were like backwards ticks. I’d seen Ming do this a thousand times when he was drawing his monsters.

That evening I tactfully complimented Ming on his superb portrait. “You made me look extremely cross,” I mentioned, pretending to be light-hearted.

“You got cross with me.”

“When?”

“When I was ownee two – with the pillow.”

“That was ages ago!” I couldn’t believe he was bringing up the incident when I had banged my head against the wall and told him to put the stuffing back into the pillow.

“Payback,” he said smugly.

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Love story 94 – Fireworks

Oh how I love remembering the early years of my marriage to Anthony and the joy of our little Ming:

Ming was just a toddler when Anthony and I took him into Bunbury, the nearest town, to see the Australia Day fireworks. It would be his first time. We went in early in order to get a parking space at a place called Boulter’s Heights, where we knew we would be able to view the fireworks from up high and from a slight distance, rather than being in the midst of the throng of revellers down in the main street.

Ming found even the waiting-for-the-fiyaworks exciting (although of course he wasn’t quite sure what fireworks were, except that it needed to be dark). He played with the rapidly increasing group of other little children, while what was a small gathering of adults gradually became huge.

As dusk fell and the crowd of big and little children grew, I kept my eyes trained carefully on Ming in that instinctive “mother bear” way, making sure he wasn’t being bullied or feeling lost. Finally, I retrieved him from a barely visible group of kids and he was safely perched half on my knee and half on Anthony’s when the first fireworks exploded.

The brightness of that very first fireworks “taster” was much more intense – and much closer – than I had expected. Ming flung himself violently backwards against my chest at the visual impact. Silently shocked, he clutched at Anthony’s leg just before the second explosion of enormous light and colour. and the noise!

Ming’s silence made me wonder if perhaps this event was too scary for him. As kaboom followed kaboom, and with the colour, light and people’s shouts of glee surrounding us, I held tight to Ming’s trembling body. Oh no! Maybe he was too little to appreciate fireworks, I thought, as I bent my head into the crook of his neck to see if he was okay.

But I needn’t have worried. Yes, he was briefly mesmerised and frightened. But as the fireworks became more intense, so did the crowd’s pauses become longer and a communal bated breath replaced the noises of impatient anticipation.

It was into one of those pauses that Ming suddenly began to shout, over and over and over again, “DOYALUVITMUMMYDADDY???!!!” And then, “ANDONY, ANDONY, ANDONY!!!DONTCHALUVITMUMMYDADDY???!!!”

Each time Ming yelled this, it was in one of those hushed moments of awe immediately after a fireworks explosion. Within the relatively small hilltop crowd we’d formed, Ming’s exclamations seemed to ring out as clearly as the noise of the fireworks and the people around us started to laugh and clap at his contagious glee.

Eventually, Ming became quieter, disconcerted by the adult attention. Then he got off my lap and toddled awkwardly around me until he was behind me with his chubby little arms around my neck. As the last firework shone out lingeringly, Ming bent his face to my ear.

“DoyaluvitMummy?” he asked again, this time solemnly.

“I love it all right, Ming,” I said, squeezing his hands and grinning at Anthony.

“Mummy,” Ming whispered very softly, as if it were a very important secret. “My tummy is cubbling [cuddling] me!!”

I knew exactly what he meant!

The beautiful thing is that Ants remembers this night too, despite the PDD.

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Love story 92 – Upbringingness, Andony and popcorn

“Danny and me is gonna get marrieded, Andony,” Ming pronounced after watching Three Weddings and a Funeral with us one Saturday afternoon.

“Are you just?” Anthony said, bemused. “When?”

“When we get all growed up – probly next year.”

“Who’s Danny?” I asked. Ming had never mentioned him before.

“He’s my bestest, bestest friend in the whole wide world.”

“I thought Dillan was your best friend,” said Anthony, passing me the popcorn.

“He is, Andony!”

“So why are you marrying Danny?” I asked.

“Because Danny and me hates girls.”

“But I’m a girl,” I said, indignantly.

Ming giggled, hysterically. “No you’re not, Mummy – you’re a woooomin.”

“Girls grow up into women, you know,” I said, passing Ming the popcorn.

“Oh.” It took Ming awhile to absorb this, but even when the penny dropped, he resumed laughing – (rather unkindly, I thought later.)

“Is Danny a new boy?” asked Anthony.

“He ownee comeded yesterday, Andony,” Ming said, his eyes alight with the elation of having made this new friend.

“Pretty quick courtship, then,” Anthony muttered to me, grinning.

“We don’t wanna do it like that vidido .”

“So how are you going to do it – the wedding?” I asked, intrigued.

“Jus out in the forest, just in a fort. We can build it.”

“Sounds quite nice,” I said. “You better invite him over.”

“NO!” Ming exclaimed, looking worried, and passing Anthony the popcorn.

Anthony and I glanced at each other, mystified. “Why not?” we said, in unison.

“He’s too special.”

I told my friend, Sue, the next day, over coffee, thinking that she, too, would see this as cute. I’d forgotten about her conservative streak.

“You need to put him straight, Julie,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not natural, is it?” She frowned.

“It seems okay to me. He’s only four. Actually I think it’s quite beautiful,” I said.

“But what about, you know, the implications? Don’t you think you should explain that marriage is between a man and a woman and not … you know?”

“For goodness sake, Sue, he has a little-boy crush on another little boy. You’re making it sound like it’s somehow wrong.” I was getting annoyed.

“There are issues here, Julie,” Sue retorted.

“What – like he and Danny might grow up and find they still want to get married?” I laughed. “It’s not likely is it? And who cares if it is!”

“Well it’s much likelier if you don’t put a stop to it,” she said adamantly.

We finished our coffees and parted, agreeing to disagree.

When I told Anthony about Sue’s disapproval he roared with laughter. “Probably a bit homophobic, poor thing,” he said.

I hadn’t even thought it through to that extent – it seemed ridiculous to do so, but the really great thing Anthony and I discovered inside ourselves was an acceptance of whatever path Ming chose to take, sexually.

But I’ll never forget Ming’s words to me, back when he told us about getting married.

“I reeeelly love Danny, Mummy – way up to the sky.”

[Note: Sue doesn’t like popcorn]

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Love story 91 – Another world

We’d rented a cottage at Flinders Bay, a tiny, magical little place, consisting of only forty-two tiny blocks – a two hour drive south for us.

“How big is the world?” Ming asked from his car seat in the back. He was three years old. We were only an hour into our journey and I wondered if his question was another version of “Are we there yet?” I hoped not.

“Huge,” I said.

“Are we aweady in the other one?”

“The other what?”

“The other world?”

“Not yet.”

“Yes we are so!” he said with certainty.

“What do you mean?”

“We doan have hunnerts of twees in our world.”

We were driving through a forest of beautiful karri trees and I suddenly realised how weird this would seem to Ming who was used to living on a cleared farm.

A few minutes later we stopped at a parking bay to eat our picnic lunch. The forest towered above us, filtering out the sunlight all except for a few bright shafts that Ming took great delight in jumping through over and over.

“I like this world way better than our one,” he said, decisively.

An hour or so later we approached Flinders Bay and I reached behind to nudge Ming’s leg until he woke up. “We’re here, Ming.” I said, excited myself. “This is Flinders Bay.”

He took his dummy out [yes, I know a 3-year-old with a dummy is bit unusual] and watched silently through the car window as Anthony eased the car down a steep slope into the tiny bay area. The view of the water was spectacular.

“It’s annuva world!” Ming exclaimed. “One, two, fwee – this is numba fwee world! How many worlds is there, Andony?” He always addressed these more difficult questions to Anthony, which was usually a great relief.

“Just one,” Anthony said, still negotiating the steep slope of the road.

“No it’s not!” Ming replied indignantly. “This is numba fwee – I just toldja that.”

I nudged Anthony as we pulled into the driveway of the beachside cottage. “Ming thinks we’re in another world,” I whispered. “Humour him.”

“Whadidja say to Andony, Mummy?” Ming shrilled, never one to miss a whisper.

I gave up on Anthony, who looked perplexed. “Daddy reckons this is another world but he doesn’t know how many there are, all together, Ming,” I said, getting out of the car.

Ming unclipped his seatbelt and threw himself out and onto the grass. “Are we gonna live here in this world now?” he asked, pointing to the cottage. He was so excited he could hardly contain himself.

“No, just for one week, Mingy,” I said, picking him up.

“How big is one week, Mummy?”

Argh! “Ask Anthony,” I said, knowing then that Ming would definitely provide us with a whirl-wind, one-week trip around the worlds!

This was confirmed when Ming looked over my shoulder at the incredible beachfront and asked, “Is this where all the worlds get borned, Mummy?”

I looked at the view through his eyes and said, without hesitation, “Yes.”

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