Pronouns

"I forgive you, Mommy."

This, from my small son, as I entered his room to give him a good-night kiss. Daddy put him to bed tonight so I could watch the Olympic gymnastic trials on TV. But I promised a good-night kiss when he was all tucked in, and here I was, ready for a quick kiss. And ready to head back to my TV.

"Why do you forgive me?"

"For talking back to me, Mommy."

"For me talking back to you?"

"No, for me talking back to you."

"Oh, you mean you are sorry for talking back to me."

"Yes."

This, because we had begun our day badly. When it was time to put his trains aside and get ready for church, he had been rude, and then disobedient, and then defiant. I had been angry. Too angry, really. We had both been in tears. We moved on, but it was true that we hadn't really resolved the issue to either of our satisfaction. The rest of our interactions of the day had been pleasant, and I was left only with anger at myself, but my sweet small son had not forgotten this unreconciled moment. His words were confused, but his heart was clear as a bell. He was sorry. He needed my forgiveness again. And I, as it turned out, was glad to receive his.