Yesterday was a school day.
It was one of those mornings.
You know the type.
Things are tense.
Our infant girl had been up all night.
My wife's eyes (along with the rest of her) were weary.
My oldest son, the nine-year-old, wasn't feeling his best either.
He was slow getting ready for school.
He understandably didn't feel like going.
It was just one of those mornings.
You know the type.
As I drove him to school, he was quiet.
When parents are tense and tired, the children feel it.
They know by word and gesture when their acts and attitudes are less tolerated.
After being fussed at, he was sullen.
It was one of those mornings.
You know the type.
I walked him to his classroom as usual. He walked in, took his bag and placed it.
I usually give my son a hug before I leave him in school.
I knew today he really needed a big hug, and maybe so did I.
He came forward with his arms outstretched.
I bowed down, clasped my arms around him, closed my eyes and hugged him tight.
Normally, I would only hug him for two or three seconds but on this morning, I held him tight as the seconds ticked by like dashed lines on the highway.
All of a sudden, I felt him get heavier.
Still clinging to my son, I opened my eyes.
I understood why he had gotten heavier.
His feet were off the ground.
He had curled his legs up and his heels were only inches away from his backside.
He clung.
I clung.
Sometimes in life no words are needed.
As he folded his legs up and trusted his father to carry all of his weight, he didn't get heavier to my spirit.
I actually felt lighter.
It was a ritual repeated countless times through countless years from countless parents to countless children.
The touch and embrace between a parent and a child, make them both feel more secure.
It was one of those mornings.
You know the type.
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