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Son-Rise: The Miracle Continues

Chapter 6 Part VIII

Samahria brought Raun down from his room one Saturday morning before dressing him. As he sat on the kitchen floor while she brewed coffee, he grabbed his shoes and tried to put them on. He struggled, trying to fit his toes into the appropriate hole and caught his fingers in the laces. I sat down beside him to help. Little by little, we maneuvered the shoes on to his feet, while he directed the process. As soon as we finished, he ripped both of them off and began again. I aided him again. Once they were on his feet a second time, off they came. His tiny fingers worked busily; he was animated, excited by his accomplishment and newly attained skill. He must have put on his shoes over twenty times. Finally, he left them on, visibly exhausted.

In the afternoon, Samahria took time out to practice the saxophone, the latest endeavor undertaken only a few weeks before. Laura, an accomplished musician, had volunteered to be her teacher. Now the notes came careening out of the sensually curved bellows of the horn, invading our home with the brassy dissonance of sounds either too flat or too sharp - a beginner's shrill chorus.

Every time Samahria practiced her horn, Raun would actually run from the clamor - out of the room. Sometimes, he cried and held his ears to protest this assault. His opinion seemed loud and clear, and he expressed it lucidly and effectively. In contrast, Bryn, Thea, loving friends, and I were more accepting of Samahria's starts. We had seen many of them. Her on-again, off-again love affair with the piano. Then her lessons with the guitar, and her attempts to compose her own music and lyrics. All those free concerts with us as her captive audience. And now the sensuous saxophone. While Raun ran and hid, we rejoiced in the fact that she hadn't fallen in love with the tuba or trumpet.

Chapter 6 Part IX