When I was little (okay, so maybe now too) I used to spill everything. Seriously, I don't know why, I just know that whenever I came within a 3 foot radius of a beverage, I somehow managed to knock it over. Each time I did, my dad would patiently walk over, clean up the spill and say joyfully, "Ana's home!" I don't remember any time when his answer was anything other then gentle and grateful that I was around to spill something.
This has always been a sweet memory, but it wasn't until recently that I gained a new understanding and respect for the patience he showed in the face of my clumsy messiness. It wasn't until recently, when I have caught myself quick to irritation at my own child's clumsy messiness that I realize what a gift my father gave me. I see it in Jack's sad eyes when he catches the frustration in my tone or in my face. I see it and I catch myself. I take a deep breath and instead tell my child how we share this talent for spillage. I share with him my own memories of his Deda when I was a child. And, quickly I am reminded how grateful I am to have a little boy around me spilling things, and instead I say, "Jack's home!"
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Too too cute. It's so funny the things that irritate me, that are really no big deal at all. What kid doesn't spill?
I've always loved this story and have thought about it often in my life. I love how sweet and patient your father was and I will always try to be that patient with everyone in my life. Love it!
so sweet!
I so needed to hear this. Thanks for sharing. Always a chance to improve, right?
Post a Comment