This has been one of Bodhi's favorite phrases lately. The last couple of days, he's been coming home from school and teaching Kim and I some new song he learned in class or some new hand game his teacher showed him or some new expression from one of his classmates. Kim was telling me how delighted she was to be surprised by all of this new stuff Bodhi has been bringing home from school. But she and I were feeling a little strange about it as well. For the last three years Kim or I either taught Bodhi something new or was present when he learned it. Now, others are socializing our little man. Wow, what a thing to experience. It's often put out there that your child is a piece of clay that you shape into a person. Now we have others putting their finger prints on our "masterpiece". Both Kim and I have gotten to really like and trust his teachers and we really appreciate the Waldorf environment. It's all very good. We just have to get used to hearing him sing songs we've never heard before and saying little things and wondering where he got that one from.
I remember the first time I felt that deep love for Bodhi. It wasn't on the day he was born. I was too exhausted. I remember Kim making that final push, our midwife holding Bodhi and I looking down to see that he was a boy and the only thought that I could muster at the moment was,"huh." After the midwife and the doula left our house, all I could think about was, "Now what are we supposed to do?" So no, the deep love wasn't on day one. It wasn't even in month one. I was too stressed out about whether or not we were doing the right thing with his eating, his sleeping, his waking, his very existence. It wasn't until the following April. The three of us were here on the Big Island. Kim and I were asked to officiate at a friend's wedding. So we flew in from Honolulu for the weekend and did the wedding. Our friends put us up in beautiful accommodations in Volcano. The morning after the wedding, Bodhi is tied on to me in his mei tai carrier and I'm swaying him back and forth to get him to sleep a little longer. Behind us a fire is crackling in the fire place. And in the background--now this is going to seem corny and sentimental--Kenny Loggin's "For the First Time" is playing. Now just a little background on me, and you can confirm this with Kim. I am, perhaps, one of the least sentimental persons I know. But at that moment with the fire place, the music, and my child tied to me, my heart was just gushing and gushing love, love, love, love, love, love, love.
I want to be clear here. It hasn't, of course, been all peaches and cream. There are times when I want to squeeze Bodhi's head like a zit. A few weeks ago, just before we moved to the Big Island, we were having dinner outside of Whole Foods at Kahala Mall with a group friends. There was about seven or eight of Bodhi's friends running around and playing together. One of them decided to run far away and the other's decided to follow. Some of the parents began chasing after the kids to bring them back. One of the dads sitting next to me jokingly said, "Ah it's a safe mall. If someone kidnapped my daughter they can have her. I dare them to take care of her." And it is, it truly is this daring thing we are doing as parents. We jump on this roller coaster ride of up and down emotions, not really knowing what's around the next bend. We hand them off to others to teach them and trust that they will come out ok on the other end. Perhaps all we can do on this ride is to let go of the handle bars, feel the wind blowing in our hair, and scream out at the top of our lungs all the excitement, fear, joy and love we have.
And of course know that it's all good.
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