Soph, she seems like a saint compared to this mother and I do not mean maternal mother. At least the boy seems like he's going to have a good shot at a good life. Caution, this is not for the weak.
The boy, Holden Gothia, lobs the baseball about 25 feet, then taunts the older boy.
"You need some lessons, young man," Holden says. "You need some lessons!"
"He's got a pretty decent arm for a little kid," another teenage brother says absent-mindedly.
The older boys have watched over Holden for so long, they have forgotten how much he has overcome since his tragic beginning.
His story, which shocked Houston four years ago, seems far behind him as he played with two of his "bubbas" on a rainy afternoon in Deer Park earlier this week.
"No rain or anything will hurt me," the untiring prekindergartener says as a brief spring storm blows through. "It can't get me; I'm tough."
His baby-sitting grandmother, Linda Gothia, agrees.
"You are tough," she says.
Watching Holden play makes it is easy to forget that this is the same child whose mother, in a drug-induced haze, severed his genitals completely on March 13, 2007. Katherine Nadal was sentenced to 99 years in prison for mutilating her son.
Holden's grandmother cautions him to stay out of the rain because of the lightning.
A camera flash goes off, capturing the boy's Cheshire grin as he plots.
He looks to the sky and looks at his Nanna. He's not afraid of the lightning.
"That was just flashes from God's camera," he pleads.
His grandmother's eyes well up when she talks about how Holden almost died when he was 5 weeks old. She wipes her eyes as she talks about the daylong musical benefit held earlier this month to raise money for his medical expenses.
"It's like a shower-bath," he says, edging toward the puddles forming in the backyard, unafraid.
The boy's brown hair, straight but for a cowlick, frames dark brown eyes. Holden is still flush with the excitement of the concert in his honor. He took the stage to play his drum kit for the crowd at the coliseum in Lake Charles, La.
The 4-year-old did not understand that hundreds of people were working to raise money toward the half-million-dollar reconstructive surgery he will undergo when he turns 8.
In a blue shirt and blue plaid shorts, he steps deliberately from the protection of the porch into the puddle, rain drizzling on his head.
He starts kicking the water, splashing it up on himself as he works to not hear his grandmother's admonitions. He puts his hands to his sides and shuffles, imitating the penguins in Happy Feet, a favorite animated film.
"It's too late," his grandmother says, resigned to watching the boy soak himself as he makes endless laps through the puddle.
"Wheeee!" he shouts, celebrating a burst of water streaming off the roof.
He hands his glasses to his grandmother and goes straight for the deluge overflowing the gutter.
"It's a waterfall!" he exclaims to his adoptive siblings in the backyard of their red-brick house, nestled in a quiet cul-de-sac.
"Come on, Stinky-bones," he says, taunting his 17-year-old brother, Parker DeShazo, to join him in the rain.
"I love him," the teen says as he abandons his shoes to tickle the little boy in the rain.
Holden was adopted by his aunt, Patches DeShazo, and her husband, Kent, after the assault. The boy has lived with his three cousins as brothers since he was an infant.
Patches' brother, Camden Gothia, is Holden's father, and he still sees the boy regularly.
Holden will have hormone treatments for the rest of his life, but his family hopes the reconstructive surgery will give him a chance at a more normal life.
They also are working to see that his past does not define him.
"Our perspective is that if we treat it as something to be ashamed of, he will be ashamed - no matter what words we use otherwise," DeShazo explained. "We're treating it as an injury he got, clearly through no fault of his own, like losing a hand or a foot."
She points out that Holden's name and story can easily be found online - his anonymity is gone. DeShazo wants people who remember the tragedy to know how well Holden is doing.
"I'd rather have something positive in those searches," she said. "Make the most recent stories the good stories."
DeShazo also hopes the tragedy will help others.
"His story is his story, and, as horrible as it is, I truly believe it will be hugely important to other people," she said. "He's an inspiration. It's an inspirational story."
His family created a charitable foundation to raise money for the boy. They hope Heroes for Holden will grow into an organization that helps cover medical expenses for other children.
Before deciding to make Holden the poster child for the foundation or to field questions from reporters, they consulted several mental health professionals about his future. They still struggle with some of those dilemmas.
"We're just feeling our way through trying to do what's best for Holden," she said. "There isn't anybody to pick up the phone and call and ask what they did in this situation."
Treating Holden has meant myriad surgeries, including one recently to help him walk. His femoral artery was severed in the assault. He continues to have problems with the leg and probably will wear a leg brace until he stops growing.
On this rainy day, the brace is getting a workout.
Holden is intent on his brothers lifting him high enough so he can dunk a basketball. "Let me. Let me. Let me," he says. "Please?"
He has played sports with them since he was a toddler.
"He thinks that whatever they can do, he can do," his grandmother says. "And he tries."
After the storm passes, the little boy rallies his team.
"I'm ready to go play basketball, Bubbas," he calls over his shoulder as he flies out the back door.
phobia.
