Saturday, January 18, 2020

My Son Reminds Me What He's Made Of


Every sane mother adores her child. I was no exception.  In fact, I knew I was right: he really was cuter than the sum total of all other earthlings.

I recall a photo: he’s wearing a tiny baseball outfit, grinning from ear to ear.  His eyes are a deep soulful brown and twinkling.  He’s a bright spirit, someone remarked.  I would agree.  He couldn’t sit still for 10 seconds, but he was a happy kid, full of passion and drive and delight.

There was one moment: he wanted to demonstrate a new skill he’d acquired.  This was at ECFE, when the parents re-joined their children at the end of the session.  A worker led us to the school gym, with wooden bleachers and lacquered floors. 

Okay, Max, she called over.  Your mommy and daddy are here.  Do you want to show them what you’ve been practicing?

He nodded. He was three years old.  She told him to stand behind a painted line.  Then said, Go!

He took off, skirting the walls of the gym.  His head was down, as if he were pushing against cyclonic winds, and his expression was deathly serious. 

My heart dropped, not in disappointment, but in love and a desire to protect him in his vulnerability.  I believe he was literally running as fast as he possibly could on his little legs.  He ran the entire circumference of the gym and came to halt in front of us.

Wow, Sweetie, that was amazing! I didn’t know you could run so fast!

I pulled him over for a hug, which he received with the seriousness and dignity that clearly was his due.  He was demonstrating what he was made of, though we didn’t fully realize it at the time.

I loved him down to my toes, through every molecule of my body, and yes, up to the moon and back.

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