There’s something calming about bathing your child, watching as the water runs over him while he giggles, the giggles turning into cries as the warm water from the showerhead surprises him. My hand holds his chest, preventing him from leaning too far forward and hitting the side of the shower. I take care to check every nook and cranny, removing any dirt from our day of playing and running around. I’m a ridiculous father: singing to him in a silly voice, saying fun nonsensical phrases. I’m slightly concerned that his development will somehow be stalled by hearing such stupid things, like I’m giving him false answers to math equations, spinning yarns that lead to nowhere, or perhaps worse—to an incorrect destination. Or perhaps my ramblings will lead to him developing a vivid imagination? Either way I’m laying seeds for ideas to grow. Most of them will lead to nowhere sensical, but a few will land on something more worthwhile and special to him than anything I could’ve dreamed—things that will bring him meaningful happiness.
His milk sloshes back and forth while he eagerly runs towards the kitchen. He has the biggest, toothiest smile, flashing it around with a certainty, emboldened by the fact that he’s the ray of sunshine to his mother and father. Carefree, he saunters into the kitchen to join Daddy while he cooks. I feel his hands wrap around my legs. They must feel like tree trunks to him. He stares up, searching for ripened fruits that may drop for him to consume. I give him a small red bell pepper. He’s skeptical, but takes a bite after seeing his Daddy take one for himself. After careful consideration, he politely declines, taking the chewed pepper out of his mouth and offering it to the second in command: our dog. While on his way out, he decides to spill the dog’s water bowl onto the kitchen floor. Thank you, son.
His phrases are dynamic and flow easily off the tongue. I love translating them. I feel as though I’m learning a new language with him: trying to see the world as he does and translate my own experiences into something he can understand. The two of the most pleasant words in the English language (when he says them) are “Day Due” (Thank you). His “Yes” and “No” are “Yo!” or “No!” but half the time I’m not sure if I understand what he’s saying. Regardless, I know that he’s happy to just sit with his Dad and read stories—the same story, again and again and again. He likes saying, “Bye Bye,” when I finish his simple book about buses, trains, boats, and planes. The final page shows the characters boarding a blue plane, preparing to take off to another unknown destination—gone forever. No matter, though. Daddy can always replay this moment for him, again and again; so long as I’m here, Daddy always will—whenever I need to, and to whatever extent that I can.