A Sweet Embrace

I was lying on the couch one afternoon when N decided to lie on top of me.  He often does this if he finds me lying on my back.  He's never very delicate as he climbs aboard.  I think, to him, I am just a big pillow.  Within seconds, he positions himself such that our faces are pressed together and he is staring directly into my eyes.  Even at this close proximity I can sense the grin on his face as he waits for a reaction.

I also climbed on my father when I was a child.  I remember him lying on the couch in the sun porch, probably tired from a week of working in the fields.  I remember the faint smell of tobacco and coffee and the way the stubble on his cheek felt against my face.  Mostly, I remember how good it felt to be next to him.

I don't know how often I did this or how long I stayed with him.  I'd forgotten the memory completely until the first time one of the boys climbed on me.  It makes me wonder what other memories are locked away, waiting for the right key to access them.

So, as N waits for a reaction, I give him the only one I can.  I wrap my arms around him.  I hold him for a moment and appreciate how wonderful the bond between parent and child feels.  To him, this exercise is largely a game. I doubt he realizes what a gift he has given me.  Someday, if he has children of his own, perhaps he will.