March 29, 2000 - Wednesday
I suppose it pretty much goes without saying that when Harry's a little the worse for wear and fatigue it's nice when he falls asleep. It's a simply thing, of course. But there are days when Harry's particularly unhappy doing the big red face cry that, when I can help him to sleep, I have a moment that goes well beyond the straight relief from the whining and crying.

It's not a conscious thing. But, somehow in this seemingly rudimentary act, I'm fulfilled as a parent. It seems silly, on the one hand, because it doesn't take a genius to realize that the crying will stop with sleep. It's also, ultimately, no major crisis, since he'd probably fall asleep eventually anyway. But on the other hand, for Harry, it could well be a crisis that he doesn't understand: why is his world not right and why does he feels miserably? He doesn't have too many more terrible things happen to him at this stage in his life. So, this is a subtle, yet very gratifying way for me to use my greater life experience, along with a familiarity with my son, to help him out.

I'm sure there'll be more important assistance for me to offer Harry in future years. Maybe I'll teach him about baseball, how to throw and hit, and he'll be a big game hero. I'll be so proud. Or, maybe his team will lose a big game and I'll have to console him. I'll be touched then, too. Maybe I'll teach him to be a good student. I'd be so proud. Or, maybe I'll just help him with his homework and we'll be frustrated together. Maybe I'll teach him music and be proud when he sings in a school musical, or just when we sing together. I think these are probably the kinds of fantasies most parents look forward to with their growing children and, when they happen, they're the moments they'll treasure.

Today I took a nap with Harry on my chest. I was giving him a bottle and, as often happens, toward the end he fell asleep without much encouragement. I slouched down on the couch and relaxed with Harry's warmth, weight, and quiet breathing. This time I didn't do much at all other than provide warmth and breathing back and he slept for more than an hour. I'll take these times with great joy, too. But, every now and then, when Harry is crying and desperately unhappy, and I can rub his head, sing gently his favorite songs, and help him relax, it makes me happy that Harry's my son and I'm his father.


Comments, opinions?