Fatherhood has changed me in ways I did not expect. I have a 2 year old son. There were a lot of things I knew would happen like giving up free time, activities, hobbies, and other stuff I had grown accustomed to doing whenever I wanted. But it was how early that my son learned to communicate, and to the extent that he does so non-verbally has surprised me. Over the last year, I've learned to communicate with him pretty effectively using a mix of verbal and non-verbal means. But really what I've learned the most from my son is how to pick up on subtle things like body language, intention, motion, and action to determine what someone means when they communicate with you.
Let me give you an example:
My son has been eating Cheerios as a regular part of his diet almost as soon as we could give him solids. He loved them at first, shoving fistfuls of them in his mouth at a time. But I suspect that may be changing. That his interest in O's is waning. Specifically, this morning I gave him a small bowl of O's, that's what we call them, O's.
It's our special name for the cereal. O's.
Anyway, I give him a small bowl. He sips on his milk for a bit, pondering the bowl of oat rings, as if he were deciding something very important about them. Something philosophical and profound about O's. I waited and quietly watched, not wanting to intrude on this young minds process. I was delighted to be present for what was obviously a moment of self-discovery for my young son. I wondered what he would remember of this moment, and how it would shape his life.
With concise effort he reached out, grabbed a handful of O's as he's done for most mornings for over a year. He opened his fist and stared at them. He gave the O's his full consideration. He took in what they were, and how they existed on his hand. He slowly rotated his hand over, and dropped all of the O's on the kitchen floor. He was careful to make sure that they all fell down, even the ones that stuck to his skin. He grabbed a second handful, and this time he dropped them one by one, letting each O hit the ground before releasing the next one.
It was only when he had fully dumped both handfuls on the ground did he get out of his small chair, and proceed to where he had left his little scooter car. Once mounted on the car, he then drove his scooter back and forth over the spilled O's. And I feel it's important here to point out that he did so with no glee but instead with deliberate relish. He took the time to ensure that each one was first broken, and then ground down again and again until there was only the scattered remnants of O's on the ground. He then dismounted, and resumed his place at the table in his toddler sized chairs.
He pushed the bowl back at me, and resumed sipping on the milk in his glass, his lip stuck out in a fair imitation of his grandfather's pout.
"So...how about a banana for breakfast then?" I asked. He nodded that would be acceptable.
You see what I mean? It's the little things, the small actions that tell you what a person means beyond what it is they say. And I think I'm getting it down- being a father and an observer.
Getting it down.
