Caleb has borrowed my Essential Charlie Parker, and I don’t think he’s ever giving it back. He likes to listen to it as he falls asleep, and so I hear it drifting down to me from his bedroom, the cool sound of that inimitable saxophone, and with it the knowledge that my seven year-old is far cooler than I’ll ever be.
Isaac wandered into the bathroom while I was shaving this morning. He had on a sweater, and cowboy boots, and nothing else. He was carrying a little plastic Playskool drill. It occurred to me that he is going to make some lucky lady very happy indeed, what with his cowboy attitude, his penchant for home repair, and his disdain for pants.
And then there’s Eli, who this morning greeted me in Army-man garb, though he is less Army man than Snuggle man. His favorite thing is for me to pick him up and cradle him in my arms. Sometimes I hold him tight, his face pressed to mine. When I do this he fits his soft ear into my own, as if he is listening to my thoughts. If he could, what he would hear is, “Thank you,” though he wouldn’t understand why this runs through my mind like a melody. One day he will. This is my prayer for all of them, that they have children who give to them what they have given to me.
