June 18, 2006

It's Father's Day. We woke up at 7:30 am this morning. Our six months old son, Gabriel, had woken up to the sound of our neighbor mowing the lawn. It was okay, though. He had slept his usual 11 hours and, certainly, we had had enough sleep (at least objectively). Still, our neighbor out on his lawn-mower, at that time on a Sunday morning, got me thinking. He is a father, too. Though his children are long moved out, living their own lives. Could it be that a kind of "Father's Day Loneliness" had contributed to his early morning activity? Or was it just that he was trying to get it done before it started raining?

While I was feeding Gabriel, sitting on our bed, my wife still sleeping next to me, with Gabriel perfectly nestled in the rhombe-shaped space made by my legs, I suddenly felt deeply embraced. This Father's Day my sense of what I had been given, rather than what I had done turned to sensation. Three beautiful, healthy sons. With wave after wave of goose-bumps washing over me, I took in the whole of my experience.

Later, after Gabriel had eaten and fallen back to sleep, I went down to where Noah's and Jacob's quarters are. Both were awake, lying in the middle of the "camp" they had built in their room, reading. I said, leaning against the door-frame: Ich habe euch beide so lieb! (I love you two so much!) Noah responded: Na, dann setz dich doch zu uns (well, then sit down with us). I did and we shared a few moments, with them reading and me just scratching their back and heads. Again, sense turns to sensation. I love it when being a father turns from thinking about it, from doing something to simply feeling it.