At 2 years old, Micah’s depth perception is a tad off. Allow me to explain.
He likes it when I tuck him in bed at night, but it wasn’t always this way. He only ever wanted Cindy to take him up to bed, but one night several months ago when Cindy was gone for the evening, I took him up.
I cued up his favorite lullaby music (Jack Johnson) and turned on the stars. Micah has this little turtle that projects a galaxy on the ceiling in his room. The stars can be amber, green, or that hue I profess is purple, but which Cindy claims is blue. As I held Micah for a moment, he looked up at the stars and said, “Touch.” Our ceilings are quite high (8 or 9 feet), but I hoisted him up, balancing him while he proceeded to touch several stars and his favorite, the moon.
From that evening forward, if Micah protested my taking him up to bed, Cindy would remind him that Daddy is the one strong enough to help him touch the stars. A shy grin would paint his face as he, clad in footy jammys, would run to me.
We were out about a month ago. I think it was the night we took the kids to a nearby corn maze. (When you live in rural Ohio, corn is always nearby.) We’d begun the maze when it was still sunny, but eventually the sun conceded to a big harvest moon that lit up the evening sky.
Within the maze, Micah rested in one of those Daddy backpacks, while we trudged through narrow, muddy paths. When he took notice of the moon, he pointed at the golden sphere and said, “Touch.”
Ah, little guy, I wish I could lift you as high.
Oh, that I could bottle up these early years and save them as a collection of vintage wine, to be opened and enjoyed in our later years. He will not forever call me Daddy. (Actually, for some reason he says Daggy. Cindy pointed it out.) But I’ll always remember, with muddy shoes and aching back, how I held Micah while he reached for that harvest moon.
[hr] Artwork: “Harvest Moon” by Amy Crook