Then Coen patted Andrew on the shoulder and pointed to the ceiling and said, "Fly!" By then Andrew was exhausted, so he said no, they would fly tomorrow. But Coen implored more and insisted, "Fly! Daddy, fly!"
My little Peter-Pan heart couldn't handle it. I wanted to sprinkle that kid with pixie dust and tell him to think lovely, wonderful thoughts. But I could tell by the expression in his eyes that he was thinking happy thoughts, and he has something better than pixie dust: he has a daddy who loves him enough to scoop him up and hold him securely high over his head and help him fly, and then hold him close as they laugh together.