I was just helping Melía dismount safely from her somersault over my knee. I wasn't sure exactly what she was up to, but our little gymnast is often wiggling around our laps and legs and shoulders, and I thought I'd help her land without breaking her neck this time. It seemed the prudent thing to do.
She squinched up her brow and let me know what she thought.
"Daddy, I was doing someping coo'. And then you did someping with me and it was not coo' anymore."
I'm sure this was the first of many such utterances from Melía, although she will probably learn to distill the sentiment into something more elegant. I could hear her saying, "I love you. And please butt out."
"Lame, Daddy," would work.When words just don't do her feelings justice, the ever popular "Whatever!" finger symbol may serve.
My question for myself is this: How often do my prudent parental designs disrupt the genuine coolness of what my kid is up to? In the dance between childlike playfulness and fatherly purpose, how wont am I to step on the toes of the kids whom God sent to teach me as much as I them?
And turning it vertical, how often is God up to something really cool when I grab hold of things and help them land in a way that's more safe and sane--and lame? In a way that ensures my comfort--secure within the bell curve--but a way that calls for no faith, no risk, no grace?
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1 comment:
Love this one. And I have one more to add... sometimes I THINK I'm doing someping coo', and it really isn't so coo', and when God up-ends me to keep my safe, I'm just about as forthright at telling Him I didn't think that was so coo'.
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