He sits on my knee and smiles. He laughs often: deep, honest laughter. (Well, it’s as deep as his tiny frame will allow.) I wonder when laughter changes?
Heinlein taught me that behind anything truly funny is something truly terrible. Laughter is courage. Look into the void and titter your disdain.
Rand taught me to only laugh at evil; when you laugh at the good in the world, you are lost. I expect, in almost all cases, that is very true.
There is much in the world he doesn’t know, yet, so maybe his laughter is bravery.
Mostly though, he laughs to simply express joy, I expect. I laugh in wry amusement (and enjoy it), but do I ever laugh ecstatic? Not often.
For now, he finds the world quite funny. He sits on my knee and giggles as he’s bounced. I smile and misremember my pain.