My 7-year-old, Griffin, is about as sentimental as it gets.

Sure, every parent hopes their children will remember at least 25% of what they tell them, such as “Say thank you when you’re given a gift, hold the door for others, and show compassion for friends who are sitting alone at lunch.”

Anything else is an added bonus, though “don’t pick your nose” wouldn’t hurt, either. I’m pretty certain my youngest son missed that memo somewhere along the way.

Last night, we went ice-skating and like many of us on the ice, Griffin was having some trouble. It was our first time, and I think he was initially disappointed that his legs were like wet noodles. I tried telling him that the guy in the orange shirt had been there a few dozen times before.

Griff had a deathgrip on my arm while he wobbled, and did several faceplants. Once, he took me down with him.

Later, as we unlaced our skates, Griff said, “Are you okay from falling, Mom? I hope you’re not mad that I went down so many times.” Goodness, no.

That night, as I made out my grocery list, I asked him, “Do you like the crinkled fries you had at your friend’s house this week, or the smiley fries Mommy gets at the store?”

Griff was silent for a bit, then said…

Either one, Mom. I like both. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings.

I love Griffin a bunch, but I love his heart most.