My youngest son is the kid that everyone likes. Each kid's mom in his class has told me, individually how much their kid likes him and how he's a topic of conversation at home. He's just that kid - he's funny and he's kind and he's just great.
He fell this morning, off of a wall that was about two feet high. Now, if you know our history, that actually should be cause for concern for me - he broke his humerus falling off a rocking chair when he was nearly one and then this past December he broke both bones in his forearm falling off the couch (was he pushed? we'll never really know the truth, I think). Anyhow, he splatted pretty well right on to the ground. The very kind people next to me gasped and reached for him even before I could, even though I think I was closer. They just reacted with more panic than I did. He jumped up before we could touch him, then he said "I'm okay!" The kind people next to us praised him for being big and brave.
That's when my sweet boy reached for me, his mama. I picked him up and he lost it. He sobbed silently, so as not to appear less than brave. He'd scraped his bottom, and it really hurt, but he didn't want anyone else to know. He sobbed while I held him tight. He gathered his wits about him and then was able to look up from my shoulder. I asked him if he wanted to get down and he shook his head. I continued to relish the moment of sweet snuggling. He finally was able to get down when he was ready and allowed me to check for blood when we got home. There was only a little, but he said, "See? I was right! There WAS blood!"