My little boy rings the doorbell when he
returns from school, and then rushes to hide. It's an elaborate game we've
played for as long as I can remember. I open the door, call out his name and
pretend to look for him in all of two possible places near the staircase, only
to act surprised when he jumps out from his secret spot with a loud 'Boo!'
Somehow, the game never grows old. He walks
in triumphantly, having scared his mum, and then settles down on my lap for his
customary cuddle while proceeding to tell me all about his day at school. I
love listening to his stories, love being welcomed into a part of his life that
I really have no control over.
And even as I'm listening to his
enthusiastic tales, a dark corner of my mind is already wistful thinking about
the time he'll outgrow this need for childish games, for a hug, and for the banter
that we indulge in. A time when I will no longer be his best friend, but an
annoying parent who is too old to understand. I wonder about the friends he
will have, the ones who will become his world, and hope they will be as devoted
and encouraging as the friends I had...the ones who I still do.
He pauses in his narration, frowns and asks why I'm not paying attention
to him. Of course, I'm listening, I insist, so that he's assured and carries on
with details of games class and his awesomeness at playing ball. But how can I assure
him that he is the centre of my universe, now and always? That I possibly
couldn't love anyone more than I love
him, and that while he has become my greatest weakness, he is also my
strongest reason for living.
I think he senses some of this, though, with
trusting childish insight, but he'll forget when he's older, a teenager maybe.
And later, when my arms can no longer circle protectively around his frame -
because that wouldn't be cool - I'll shield him with prayer instead, and hope, that
one day he'll remember these ordinary, golden times, and understand.
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The Night Watch - A song that I've loved since I was a kid.
