October 29, 2010
When he tilts his head back a little and looks at me, I feel strength build. The soft whisper of his breath that brushes across my lips and face set off a chain of explosions inside me. The crescendo of dedication and compassion and pride are like a rushing, boiling windstorm, a triumphant roaring of a mezzo forte symphony at its zenith in my soul. In that moment, the air between us is infused with some type of syrupy electricity, a current of calm energy that is unexplained in its sensation. He catches a glimpse of something supernaturally funny, or joyful, in our closeness and he smiles at me with a glittering flash of complete happiness in his eyes. On the outer edges of my consciousness I understand what he sees, and I feel laughter well up deep inside my chest. During this distracted and clouded moment of rapture, he must have slipped a car in my pocket.
I love my Son. He loves me, but his small and choppy whitecap of love toward me is met by a thundering tsunami in return. At two years, he is incapable of knowing just to what measures I would take this. I would bloody myself on the street for him, and linebacker a locomotive to keep him from harm. I would even inflict punishment on him, with love, to protect him from dangers and consequences he has never even contemplated.
He leans his face slowly in, and kisses me with one sweet instant of emotion. It’s a peck, and I grit my teeth to keep from melting into incoherence. I feel unworthy, but he worships me. I am his Father and that makes me worthy to him. It is in accordance with the ancient order, firmly established before time began.
He is propelled to me by the bond of who I am, not what I do. In this moment of instinct and innocence he is showing me that he loves me, and he is drawn to my face magnetically. If I am not looking at him, he turns my chin toward him with a small but insistent hand. Then, when I make eye contact with him, he is overpowered and it is too much so he turns away sheepishly. He grins as his eyes close slowly a couple times, and he lays his head high on my chest, up under my chin. And stays there for a minute.
I love you, JP.
I wuv you too, dad.
My Son in Whom I delight.