An understanding of true delight

I can see it in his eyes, when he squeals at first sighting and toddles (a little drunken) to you, the brightest time of his day. And then shrieks again in frustration; greetings are always over too soon, cut short to get out of sweaty clothes, put down packages, run to the bathroom. He follows you (anywhere) on little legs, clutches at baby gates, fat fingers poking through desperately at the wire and plastic mesh. Every line of him a howling disappointment.  Then you come back (a scant moment later) and the sun comes out again.

Too early to talk yet more eloquent than any adult… 

You are the one who makes him laugh,

The magic man,

It’s dad.

And I can see it in your eyes… the endless pool of love that welled forth when he was born does keep growing.  How surprising, how an infinite continues to grow (as constant as the fingerprints, the toys squirreled away, the crusty smear on furniture or clothes unexpectedly encountered). Ripples expanding ever outward.  You swing him into the air and he gasps, gleeful (his laugh so much like yours).  And suddenly (I see) you see ripples reflecting back… not because they hit anything like a border, but bouncing back from his love given. The rings overlap, flowing patterns, so much more than ever expected.

Beyond anything

This is being dad.

To the father of my son and to all dads, everywhere.         – wg