culture

He sat and watched the child crawl around. He was eleven months old. He had learned to walk pretty fast, but he seemed to enjoy crawling more than walking. So far, at least. He was sitting in silence and watching his son in contentment. Soon, there would be birthday parties, there would be school, then high school, and the drama that follows, teenage years, there would be rebellion, disliking for parents. All of them go through that. But at least they would be together. Then there would be college, and he would be gone. His son would be gone for it. And when his son came back, he might be dead. Who knew if he’d live that long? Yes, there had been advances in science. In medical fields. But death did not follow a schedule. Death did not now. Death accepted graciously, benevolently, the efforts that humans put into prolonging their inevitable meeting with it, but that did not mean that death did not come for some of them sooner, and others later.

So, for now, he waited. And watched. It was exciting watching his son learn about the world in front of him. Figuring out simple things like special awareness. The table that he bumped into. So, no, he couldn’t walk through things he could see. The carpet that he loved scratching his right knee on.

The father’s eyes fell on the painting that had come with the house. There was an old man, and a young man. A river. A small cottage behind them. Whenever he looked at it, he saw different things. Right now, it reminded him of his own childhood. When he was much younger and in college. He remembered his first girlfriend. That took him to a conversation he’d had with her. He paused, and marveled at how thoughts took people to such different places. Just mere strands holding people’s memories together. Changing perceptions. He tried to piece together the strand that he had left off on. It was there in the back of his head, but he could not recall it.

His son was now sucking on his thumb, and looking up at the father in a curious way, eyes wide, white, inquisitive. He felt a surge of joy in his chest, and just wanted to hug the chil- “Will you show them the toys?” He had laughed it off. She was traditional. But now, he was curious. He pulled out his phone, turned on the cameras, and keeping the cameras squared on his child, seeing him through the screen on his phone, he found the things he was looking for and brought them back to the living room. Their culture asked children, it was a byegone thing now, but asked children to choose between three things. One represented wealth, one represented intelligence, the third represented strength. The boy looked at the three things placed in front of him. One by one, all in turn. And then all of them together. He made to touch the pen, and then stopped. Made to touch the coin, and then stopped. Made to touch the paperweight, and then stopped. His father watched, breathlessly, their faces inches away from one another. The boy then reached out, and grabbed his father’s face with both tiny hands. Tears sprang from the eyes of the latter.