simply because it was difficult. He showed her how, allowed her to make mistakes, and waited patiently while she tried again.
When the birdhouse was finished, one side leaned slightly.
Emma looked disappointed.
“It’s crooked,” she said.
Ezra tilted his head.
“So is my porch. It has survived seventy years.”
They painted the birdhouse blue and hung it in our backyard.
For years, sparrows nested inside it every spring.
Ezra attended Emma’s school concerts, birthday dinners, and high school graduation. At Christmas, he came to our house. At Thanksgiving, he
