I love my little Joe. He is eight years old, sweet, gentle, loves animals, and snuggling. He is genuinely, and naturally funny, and he makes me laugh all the time. His face might be a special plasticine blend by God, because he makes the craziest faces. He has his Monkeyfriend, a stuffed monkey he has carried with him since he was born, and he does this subconscious thing where he taps Monkeyfriend against his head when he needs to calm down. Just to be clear, Monkeyfriend doesn't go to school. A lot of times, other boys his age do not "get" him because he is not aggressive at all.
But Joe has a little monster that lives within. A monster who doesn't see how blessed he is. Who complains because his set of toys isn't complete. The little monster asks for a toy every time we go to Target, and tries to manipulate when we say no. He always wants to win; the imaginary race to the door or being first controller when playing the Wii, it's not a pretty thing to watch.
The Little Monster has been active lately. He doesn't understand how getting one present this Christmas is so much better than many kids will receive in the town where we live, let alone the devastating poverty of the Third World. The Little Monster needs his eyes opened. It's time to arrange some service projects.