• The die jumps from my little brothers fingers. It spins. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Like my head goes spinning, spinning, spinning, when a special person walks in the room. And he comes and sits in front of me. And in my minds eye I see my brothers die goes spinning, spinning, spinning, across the breakfast table that has wings like a duck. Spinning, spinning, spinning. And he turns around and asks. Not for my hand or my heart, but my homework. And the spinning, spinning, spinning, starts to slow. And the special one to me says thanks and asks me, how was my day and how is my family doing. And my little brother starts spinning the die again, faster this time to match the pace with my head, and through the spinning all I can say is, “Good.”