While night skiing this evening, my 2.5 year old and I became separated from his older brother and sister, and ended up on the lift alone together. We sang songs, alternating between who got to choose, making up our own words to classics like "Head, shoulders, skis and toes," and he'd giggle with delight every time we touched his skis. Then I asked him what he wanted to sing next, and he started into "I Am a Child of God." As he sang it all by himself, something about his sweet little scratchy voice breaking the silence of the night, the cool air and the moonlight's glow on the mountain snow made me really, really hope that he'll believe it, and feel otherworldly love when he needs it most, when worldly love is found lacking or altogether absent.
Back in reality and on the drive home, I responded to an insolent comment from my daughter by knuckling her on the skull - not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get her attention and flag the infraction. A moment later, Little Guy chimed in from the back seat, "Daddy, did you hit her?" Which I ignored. Silence...silence...silence. "Daddy, did you hit her on the head?" I was caught. "Yes, I did, because she was being naughty." Pause. "You shouldn't hit her. You need to be kind to her. You shouldn't hit her."
Friday, March 26, 2010
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