A Helping Hand

The youngest son, Nissim, who just turned three, was getting ready for bed. I was working at the computer. I had finished my tea, and the empty glass sat in front of me. Nissim reached for it. “Thank you, Nissim.” I handed him the glass. He went to the sink behind us, stepped up on a stool, filled it with water, and drank. Then, he filled it some more, came, and put the cup on the desk where I was working. “Thanks.”

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