He was a water baby, stroking across the width of the pool deep underwater before he could walk. When we stayed with Uncle James in Venice he was the only child trusted to play anywhere near the canal; he marched along its edge singing with a string of dogs in tow. Yohosame was all about the music the world made. This child sang rather than talked, danced instead of walked, used a tennis racquet to play air guitar, and beat out rhythms on household objects.
He played the scales on his toy xylophone, striking the keys with a wooden mallet from treble to bass and back again, saying,
“This is the way we disappear and reappear.” He thought for a moment, and corrected himself, this time playing from bass to treble and back to bass, certain now,
“No, this is the way we disappear and reappear.”
~as told by my mother