Owen loves to roar. When he’s older, I’ll check to see if this has translated into a life of activism or a culture of complaint. (Right now, it can go either way.) He’s enthralled with dinosaurs, Sox-the-cat, and saying “no” to almost any request. His parents constantly film him, but sometimes that only reinforces what we are missing.
365/radical elements 
I had my roar – if I ever had one – stifled out of me as a child, so I holes he keeps his in a positive way. That last sentence – yes, I understand.
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Hope, not holes. Autocorrect. Argh.
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Owen sounds like a character.
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Is Owen a grandson?
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No. He’s the son of Kathleen, who is as dear to me as a daughter. So we call ourselves adopted aunt and uncles to the wee Owen.
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