Ethan

Ethan is eight. He has been asking "why?" since he could form the word, and the adults in his early life did not always have patience for that. He learned young to keep the questions in his head.

Ethan entered foster care after a domestic incident made his home unsafe. His foster parents, both teachers, noticed on day one that he lit up around books. They stocked his nightstand. He's still working through it.

He builds things — Legos, cardboard robots, a "machine" he assembled out of rubber bands and spoons. He tells jokes that don't always land but that he laughs at himself. He asks his questions again.

Ride a bike without training wheels. Read a book thicker than his hand. Join Cub Scouts so he can go camping with the other kids on his block.

Winter clothes. Tutoring to close a reading gap that trauma, not ability, created. A bike, eventually. The small stuff that adds up to a normal childhood.