Mason Riemersma, aged three, is attempting to fit a square peg into a round hole.
Each time it drops outside his little toy box, rather than frustrated tears, he tackles the challenge with unwavering optimism. He tries again, then again. It’s as if, by sheer goodwill, he’ll defy all norms and fit his square peg into the circular entrance to the box.
His identical twin brother, Jordan, looks on, the same curly blond hair cascading across his forehead, the same huge, inquisitive blue eyes hungry for connection. Then the block tumbles onto my foot. “You ’kay?” Mason asks. “You ’kay?” And suddenly he’s intrigued by my presence. “Hello!” he exclaims. He toddles over and lovingly strokes my beard. “Hello!” he says again.
He traces both small hands down my nose. “Hello!” His wide blue eyes enliven as he then cups my chin in both his hands and stares, unblinking, deep into my eyes like he can see my very soul. “Hello, hello, hello, hello,” he repeats ad infinitum, part whispered, part spoken, as if the word itself is inadequate to convey the vigour of his curiosity and the warmth of his greeting.
Shortly afterwards, emboldened by his brother’s lead, Jordan greets me with the same tactile inquisitiveness. I’m moved to the point of being mute. Their mum, Mandy, says this reaction is normal.
“These people have an aura – joyful, happy qualities,” she says. “Their smiles cover their whole face. They shift with the mood of the room. Everyone’s drawn to them.”
It’s only now, as these “uniquely magical” traits emerge, that Mandy
