When he was two
It's quiet, but for the birds chirping, and it is broken only by the sound of your voice.
"Almost cats?" you ask me, excitedly.
"Yes, baby, we're almost to the cats."
The lone basement window is open for a change. Even a few feet away you can smell that unmistakable cat smell. The smell of eight cats living in one room in a basement.
Undeterred, you yell "Hi cats!" Some flee, but a calico and a tabby come right to us. Rubbing against the metal grate installed across the open window.
The owner is my parent's neighbor. He's fixing the place up to retire to, and is only here on weekends. His love for cats is great, but his wife is allergic.
The calico one has some matted fur, and one of the black and whites has an ingrown nail, but otherwise they seem ok.
I stick my fingers in the holes of the grating and pet the ones begging for attention. I try to coax the ones who aren't sure, the ones who are use to only having each other, the ones who's sunny nap we have interrupted. But they won't come. How strange we must seem to them. Why should they trust us?
You give up on your quest to feed them little rocks from the driveway, and sit in my lap. I watch how your eyes grow big with wonder as I show you how to reach your fingers in and gently stroke their soft fur. I listen to you laugh and squeal with delight, scaring them away. You offer them your shovel as penance but they remain out of our reach.
We say "Bye cats" and wave as we get up to leave. You start to walk ahead, but stop and reach your tiny hand out behind you, so gentle, looking for mine. And then you look up at me. Your ruffled hair, so soft I can't stop touching it, sand on your bare feet, bits of egg on your face, and a shirt that's way too big for you. I will never forget this moment right now.
Taking your tiny hand in mine, I can feel your skin against my own, and I know I want to hold your hand forever. I know that I never want you to stop wanting to hold my hand.
Sometimes I want to take you just as you are right now and never let you go. Sometimes I want nothing more than to keep you all for myself, to keep you from everything that is wrong in the world. Sometimes I want to wrap you up in bubble wrap to protect you from every piece of glass or sharp edge. And I want to stand in front of every bee that wants to sting you. And I want to stop every girl who will ever break your heart.
But I know deep down that I can't protect you from everything, because to protect you from the bad, would be to protect you from the good. I can't, no, shouldn't stop you from enjoying what makes you happy in this world. From walking barefoot in the ocean, sliding down the big slide, and loving animals and people who will eventually leave you.
I know that caging you in would protect you from pain, and fear, and heartbreak and evil. But I also know it would kill that beautiful part of you that I love so very much.
I know the day will come when you will no longer need to hold my hand, when I will have to let you go. And I know that it will be the best thing I could ever do for you, regardless of how hard it will be for me to do it.
"Almost cats?" you ask me, excitedly.
"Yes, baby, we're almost to the cats."
The lone basement window is open for a change. Even a few feet away you can smell that unmistakable cat smell. The smell of eight cats living in one room in a basement.
Undeterred, you yell "Hi cats!" Some flee, but a calico and a tabby come right to us. Rubbing against the metal grate installed across the open window.
The owner is my parent's neighbor. He's fixing the place up to retire to, and is only here on weekends. His love for cats is great, but his wife is allergic.
The calico one has some matted fur, and one of the black and whites has an ingrown nail, but otherwise they seem ok.
I stick my fingers in the holes of the grating and pet the ones begging for attention. I try to coax the ones who aren't sure, the ones who are use to only having each other, the ones who's sunny nap we have interrupted. But they won't come. How strange we must seem to them. Why should they trust us?
You give up on your quest to feed them little rocks from the driveway, and sit in my lap. I watch how your eyes grow big with wonder as I show you how to reach your fingers in and gently stroke their soft fur. I listen to you laugh and squeal with delight, scaring them away. You offer them your shovel as penance but they remain out of our reach.
We say "Bye cats" and wave as we get up to leave. You start to walk ahead, but stop and reach your tiny hand out behind you, so gentle, looking for mine. And then you look up at me. Your ruffled hair, so soft I can't stop touching it, sand on your bare feet, bits of egg on your face, and a shirt that's way too big for you. I will never forget this moment right now.
Taking your tiny hand in mine, I can feel your skin against my own, and I know I want to hold your hand forever. I know that I never want you to stop wanting to hold my hand.
Sometimes I want to take you just as you are right now and never let you go. Sometimes I want nothing more than to keep you all for myself, to keep you from everything that is wrong in the world. Sometimes I want to wrap you up in bubble wrap to protect you from every piece of glass or sharp edge. And I want to stand in front of every bee that wants to sting you. And I want to stop every girl who will ever break your heart.
But I know deep down that I can't protect you from everything, because to protect you from the bad, would be to protect you from the good. I can't, no, shouldn't stop you from enjoying what makes you happy in this world. From walking barefoot in the ocean, sliding down the big slide, and loving animals and people who will eventually leave you.
I know that caging you in would protect you from pain, and fear, and heartbreak and evil. But I also know it would kill that beautiful part of you that I love so very much.
I know the day will come when you will no longer need to hold my hand, when I will have to let you go. And I know that it will be the best thing I could ever do for you, regardless of how hard it will be for me to do it.