More Than A Feeling

One of the many smaller and bigger evening routines I have with my youngest, Gabriel, is singing a German "Lied" for him while gently scratching his back (or legs or arms, he'll decide) at the same time. We have an array of songs we like to sing together. "Together" here means that he'll sometimes sing along, but more often he will sing a slightly altered, funny version of the song while I'm singing the "real" one. Up to the very last minutes before going to sleep, Gabriel likes to be silly. His laugh is contagious and I would never want to deny him that silliness. But then he quiets down and the very last song often is one where he almost falls into a meditative trance of sorts. --- It's a precious time of the day.

I have been thinking about this time a lot lately. For one, it occurred to me that I do not have any recollection of when the last time was that I sang for either of my older two sons. I just don't remember and I didn't know at the time, of course, that that would be the last time. It was a routine, then too. Each would get some time of singing and having their backs scratched. For another, I realize that this ritual, for me, is as old as I am. I remember especially my grandmother--who is now almost 94--sitting by my bed-side and doing exactly that: singing and scratching my back at the same time. I spent a lot of time at my grand-parents home when I was a pre-schooler. My bed there was called "die Butze." It was a bed that was built against the wall with curtains around it, so that it felt like a cave. A very safe and cozy cave. Down to the songs she sang for me the experience was the same. I can still hear her voice (with a strong tremolo in it) and feel her finger-nails gently stroking my back. Magical times they were!

Last night I told Gabriel how "Uroma" was the one who often sang for me and scratched my back. He was listening carefully. I told him, too, that Uroma looks at his picture every morning now and says "Guten Morgen, Gabriel" (good morning, Gabriel). He turned over cozying up into his blanky and just said can you sing "Der Mond" for me (Der Mond ist aufgegangen/The moon has risen). So, I did. Choking up at moments, remembering.

Yes, at times it feels like such a loss that these times passed with my older two boys. But something else occurred to me very recently. Noah and I were driving home from dropping off his girl-friend. We've been having a somewhat harder time with each other lately. I am so much more sensitive (in a bad way) to his need for independence and separateness from us, his parents, and especially from me his father. It was about 10pm. I had plugged my phone into the car's stereo and we were listening to "More Than A Feeling" by the group Boston (an old favorite of mine). Noah liked that song a lot and asked, if he could plug in his phone for some music. I said "yes" and thought at the same time "let's just drive a bit." And so we did. Instead of going directly home, we got on the high-way listening to Eminem, Linkin' Park even Elton John (Tiny Dancer) and, of course, Far, Far Away (Slade). Our windows were rolled down and we hardly spoke. And, yes, the moon was rising! Then it occurred to me: here it is again, that time. It's changed somewhat. I'm not singing German songs for him anymore, and I'm also not scratching his back. But we're engaged with each other through this medium, music, every once in a while even humming or singing along, together. It was magical, once again!

"I love you," I said as we pulled into the garage 45 minutes later. "I love you too," he said, then, ran inside to answer a text from his girl-friend. Only a few more years are left until he'll leave the house for good. I am hoping for--and feel reassured of many more surprising moments of magic with him.