When it was bedtime for my youngest a lifetime ago, I would stop in and we would sing a short song, then I would place my hand on her forehead and give her a blessing.
One night I must have been distracted, and as I was leaving, she said “Dad” in an exasperated tone then took my hand and placed it on her forehead.
I Learned that night, never withhold a blessing.
Of course, this is the same child who received a hard cure for bad dreams.
My youngest, then a lovely eighteen years old says “Let’s play Scrabble”. Read the rest of this entry »
The knock came first, then the doorbell. It was 2:00 AM. Angry, it echoed two notes again and again as whoever it was pounded on the door. Two AM, better put on pants. Read the rest of this entry »
I always seemed to hear her first, little voice whispering “Dad, I have bad dreams can I come in.” My constant answer, “Sure honey, come on in”.
This night I lay quietly awake pondering some long forgotten computer issue when I heard her door creak, and the slap slide of little footed pajamas creep down the hall. Soon she stood outside the door, “Mom…. Mom….” calling softly in the night.
Whump, the elbow to the ribs made me jump, and I glanced over at my suspiciously motionless wife, so lovely and innocent beneath our comforter. “Dad…Dad…” a little louder now. My mind raced with plots and discovered treachery and then “Dad I have bad dreams…” and I gladly invited her in, steeling myself, hoping she wouldn’t crawl over my head or place her foot “somewhere” else. She snuggled in nicely, and computer problems a thousand miles away I drifted off to sleep.
Ugggh…. someone was crawling over my stomach….
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
“You snore too much, I’m going back to my bed.”
I walk out the backdoor, through the garage and wave goodbye to two little girls playing in the green turtle sandbox. Intent and focused, one is filling a bucket while the other shapes dreams into castles. One head of silky straight brown hair, and another of blonde curls twisted tightly in the humid summer morning air.
I wave and call out a goodbye as I prepare to leave for work. Often they will run up for a hug, one on each leg, and I wrap my arms around them and ruffle their hair. Today they are lost in a world I once knew but visit no longer.
Inside the car, I check they are safely away, and begin to back down the narrow drive. One arm drapes over the passenger seat as I look to the rear and slowly inch backwards past the chimney and out into the street.
As I stop and check for traffic, I glance up and see two little ones, flip flops on their tiny feet as they hop and skip down the driveway waving. I smile and wave too, and turn the corner looking back, and there are my two little followers, running down the sidewalk blowing me kisses.
How fine some summer days can be.
When my daughters were very small, they would bounce between ecstatic and sad as all young children do. There is no half stepping of emotions for the very young, they light the room or cast us all into dismal despair.
When they were down, I would tell them to come to me, and I would take them in my arms and say that people have an invisible cup that no one else can see and it is called the love cup. And when it is empty the best way to make it full again is with a hug. I would tell them, let me fill your love cup for mine is overflowing.
So I would ask as I held them, can you feel it? Can you feel the love flowing? Can you feel me filling your love cup? They would reply in their soft little voices, and tell me just a little more, or I’m half full, or still empty, or now I’m overflowing. Soon they would wander off to play or explore and grow. I think that they spoke true in that honesty only the very young have. They could feel the love flow between us, I know I could.
May your love cup be always full.