mad_muses: That’s not failure. That’s redefined objective.

It had started at the playground. Sam was getting into the habit now that springtime had come of taking baby Michael to the park. He would lather the baby up in sunscreen - no skin cancer on his son - and then sit on a blanket in the grass.

Michael was starting to learn to sit up, so Sam would stretch out on his side, reading a book while he son was propped up against his legs and playing with a swinging toy that Sam had straddling them both.

A few feet away, two mothers were playing with their infants, teaching them a word and then showing them the sign for it. After a moment, Sam put down his book and watched them.

"What are you guys doing?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Sign language." One of the mothers looked at him. "Since Cynthia can't speak yet, it's a good way for her to communicate her needs to me."

"You mean crying isn't enough?" Sam joked... he learned that wasn't something to joke about real quickly.

( . . . )