Sentimental Revelations

Recently, I had a late afternoon appointment that kept me from taking Emerson to soccer practice. So his mother took him for me. Em knows what is expected of him during practice and during games. He does not have to excel, but he does have to try his best, be aware of his environment, and approach the situation with a healthy mix of fun and seriousness.

On occasion the Boy has to be reminded that lying in the grass and dirt, hiking his satin black shorts up to his chin, and annoying the living shit out of his teammates and members of the other team are not numbers one through three on the day’s agenda. That being said, I want him to have as much fun as possible while accepting the seeds of responsibility and dependability that come with being part of a team. In general, he does this very well. But, again, he has to be reminded from time to time. He is four. And he gets to be four for a whole year. But he also gets to have a lesson or three in the things that (hopefully) will help ease him into the next stage of his young life and then the ones after that.

I pulled up to the practice field during the final 10 minutes of the kids’ workout. Walking to the sideline, I saw three boys standing in front of the goal and Em sitting down as comfortable as if he were watching a movie and having popcorn. I spotted his mother across the field and she gave me a half-smile and slight head-shake telling me that Em had likely assed-out during his practice. That could mean anything from lounging in the grass to getting the other boys to play chase with him. I looked back toward the goal and Emerson’s eyes met mine. He stood up immediately, got a serious look on his face, and commenced to make the most of his remaining 10 minutes.

This was moving in ways I do not fully comprehend. Emerson did not get his four-year-old act together because he fears his father—of this I am confident. But there was something nearly tangible about the action that spoke equal parts to a respect for me and a healthy pride in self. A casual observer may have had a different take on the exchange. To me, though, at play that day were elements of a natural desire for a father’s approval; a recognition that there are expectations of behavior—even for children; and (for good or bad) an effort to not disappoint if disappointment is indeed avoidable.

It was an interesting revelation for me that day on the practice field. I allowed myself the suggestion that maybe I am doing some things right. I am all too aware of the things I do not do well. As such, I strive daily to address them, learn from them, and do them better. So it was nice to have this. Emerson and I laugh together every day. He often tells me I am his “best friend.” I tell him, “That’s right, Buddy. But remember, Daddy first. Friend second.” “Yeah,” he says. “Dat’s right.” It is imperative that he know the difference as we travel this road together. So far, I think, we’re both doing some things right.

That revelation followed a similar one of a few weeks ago. I noticed Em staring at me with the most beautiful, peaceful look.

“What are you doing, Boy?” I asked.
“I’m just looking at you, Daddy”
“Why?” I asked, smiling my own smile.
“Because I love you,” he said.

In those crystal blue eyes I saw a love and respect as deep as the seas. A love and respect nearly as deep as that which I have for him. And I was moved as never before. While I am doing the best I can, I do not feel for a moment that I have earned that from him. Not yet. It is nice, however, to see that he thinks I am ahead of schedule. For in much the manner I never fathomed my own capacity to love someone as I do my son, it never occurred to me that I might some day be as loved in return.

It is a grand thing and knows no comparison.