I am blessed. I’ve had the blessing of remembering a wonderful time. A time of harmony. Of love. Of family. At the center of that family, I found my dad. His smile made me smile. At four, his coming home from work was the highlight of my day. He made me feel valued, chosen and loved. Not worshiped, but loved. There was a sense of reality in his love. I was no perfect little brat who could do no wrong. My father’s love for me was wise and unconditional. And because of that, I felt meaningful and special. Everyday, he would hug me and kiss me. He would pick me up, place me on the kitchen counter and kiss my mother, a long time. I remember watching them, my hands covering my face, but my fingers spread wide enough to see them. I watched them, grinning at them, feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment and security. It was breathtaking. He did this every day I can remember. These were the days of what I call, “beforeness.”
Beforeness is that sweet time in my childhood, when everything (in my mind) was as it should be. A man, a wife, a child, a family. There was so much love and laughter in this time. So much music and dancing and joy. It was a sweet time. I know I’m blessed to even have a day of this. Most of my friends had no memories. No point of reference. They say you can’t miss what you never had, but I looked in the painful, angry eyes of those who never had. They knew they missed it.
My dad not a big man, but he was powerful in spirit, in what he stood for. He was a hard worker, very passionate very focused. Even as a little kid, he made me look forward to being a man. The man inspired me just by walking in the room. His walk had style and rhythm. His voice was strong and smooth like coffee. Soothing like hot cocoa when I was scared or bleeding. Profound and direct when he spoke to grown ups who ticked him off. He had mystique. I couldn’t explain it at the time, but I knew there was something special about my dad. His hand on my shoulder gave me such confidence and strength. He could make you feel special just by the way he spoke to you. (or like dirt if he felt you deserved it) He would look me in the eye and never undermine my small stature. He spoke to me with purpose, like a father to a son.
And just like that it was gone. My beforeness became a distant past. So many tears fell, that my beforeness felt almost like a dream. Like that was too good to be true, and maybe it was. Maybe I was protected from the hurt and pain. Maybe my parents were incredible actors to an audience of one naïve, emotionally near sighted child. Maybe. But not likely. I’ve seen people fake it. I’ve seen them smile like photographs and laugh from their throats and not their bellies. I’ve seen people kiss with no heart, spirit or true emotion. Those people were not my parents. At least not yet.
My, beforeness may have been amazing and inspiring, but when the weeds of separation were allowed to grow, their roots grew deep underneath the foundation of our happiness. Eventually, they sucked the life water out of our family, leaving us brittle and breakable. We were left unprotected, vulnerable and nakedly exposed to the elements. And inevitably, we lost that miracle. Like trying to grasp smoke in your hands, it soon faded away leaving only a scent of what was there before. But before the pain and the turbulence, I will never forget, “beforeness”.
Beforeness is that sweet time in my childhood, when everything (in my mind) was as it should be. A man, a wife, a child, a family. There was so much love and laughter in this time. So much music and dancing and joy. It was a sweet time. I know I’m blessed to even have a day of this. Most of my friends had no memories. No point of reference. They say you can’t miss what you never had, but I looked in the painful, angry eyes of those who never had. They knew they missed it.
My dad not a big man, but he was powerful in spirit, in what he stood for. He was a hard worker, very passionate very focused. Even as a little kid, he made me look forward to being a man. The man inspired me just by walking in the room. His walk had style and rhythm. His voice was strong and smooth like coffee. Soothing like hot cocoa when I was scared or bleeding. Profound and direct when he spoke to grown ups who ticked him off. He had mystique. I couldn’t explain it at the time, but I knew there was something special about my dad. His hand on my shoulder gave me such confidence and strength. He could make you feel special just by the way he spoke to you. (or like dirt if he felt you deserved it) He would look me in the eye and never undermine my small stature. He spoke to me with purpose, like a father to a son.
And just like that it was gone. My beforeness became a distant past. So many tears fell, that my beforeness felt almost like a dream. Like that was too good to be true, and maybe it was. Maybe I was protected from the hurt and pain. Maybe my parents were incredible actors to an audience of one naïve, emotionally near sighted child. Maybe. But not likely. I’ve seen people fake it. I’ve seen them smile like photographs and laugh from their throats and not their bellies. I’ve seen people kiss with no heart, spirit or true emotion. Those people were not my parents. At least not yet.
My, beforeness may have been amazing and inspiring, but when the weeds of separation were allowed to grow, their roots grew deep underneath the foundation of our happiness. Eventually, they sucked the life water out of our family, leaving us brittle and breakable. We were left unprotected, vulnerable and nakedly exposed to the elements. And inevitably, we lost that miracle. Like trying to grasp smoke in your hands, it soon faded away leaving only a scent of what was there before. But before the pain and the turbulence, I will never forget, “beforeness”.
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