Why do fathers matter? Fathers create order in the family. Fathers teach their boys to be men and protect their daughters and wives. Why do mothers matter? Because there is never more comfort than a mother's touch and reassurance, no matter how old the mother or child. A family is a small universe to be treasured and nurtured, G-d's gift to us mere humans.
Seen on the subway:
A very handsome Asian father-he looked Korean to me, walked on the train with his 2 or 3 year old son. He was dressed in a very expensive suit, he was slim and had very nice shoes and a beautiful briefcase and strong hands for a relatively slight man.
His son was a little mini-Dad, a little ball of energy, so excited to be with his Dad, holding his hand, looking for a seat. He couldn't decide if he wanted to sit or go to the front of the train and watch the train drive through the tunnels. He decided to sit.
He giggled, got up, sat down. Looked around, got up and sat down again.
The train jerked and the little mini-man got a small bump on his little head from the poles between the seats. The Dad had a split second of worry and blurted out "oh-are you OK-watch your head", as he put his hand on his son's head, and assured the little guy that everything was alright. The child paused for a moment, and then smiled and started giggling again.
The child then took his sweatshirt and put it on his head. Like "I've disappeared", and laughed hilariously-a belly laugh through his sweatshirt. Then, he pulled the sweatshirt off of himself. Like "I'm back, Daddy". He laughed and laughed.
The Dad was smiling from ear to ear. The improvised game of sweatshirt peek-a-boo was joyful and real and exquisite.
Watching parents and grandparents enjoy their children and grandchildren has got to be one of the most pleasurable human experiences aside from feeling it oneself.
I watched my special needs son on his bike yesterday, tapping the adapted pedals, going backwards and forwards. He is getting the hang of it.
In the sunshine, on our quiet street, with my other son biking around the street beside us, I felt the superhuman force that is the love of a parent for a child. Of course I feel it often-but some moments are so acute as to be almost overwhelming. An overload of emotion that becomes physical and takes one's breath away.
Such is also the worry for a child. The body of the parent struggles to function as the brain tries to comprehend the messages of illness or sudden injury, diagnosis or prognosis. The call from the school, the desperate ask-"is everything OK", the "actually no", then flying out the door to your unwell child.
So we must therefore focus on the sweatshirt peek-a-boo and the belly laugh, the biking in the sun, on the quiet street, the feel of the sun, the glory of the moment of living in that moment.
As I get older, I realize that there is no force of darkness that can defeat those who savour each moment, and each vignette because each is a reafirmation of life no matter how seemingly small.
There is no time in my universe to indulge those who cannot hear or comprehend this message.
