“Is It Gonna Hurt, Dad?”
Parents, remember the very first time you took your infant to the pediatrician for the first time to get that first round of immunizations? If you haven’t blocked it out of your mind entirely, it might cascade over your brain this very moment and reacquaint you with what was probably an experience you’d rather not be reminded of all over again (so, sorry about that).
It happened to me yesterday with Alpha Male but led up like this:
About two weeks ago I stepped into his bedroom to wake him. On my way over to the bed where one leg stuck out form under a mountain of blankets, I stepped over a mountain of laundry. Having long lost track of what was actually clean and not put away, I started picking up clothing to look for another place to set a new pile and establish some sense of order. And failed, of course. Welcome to the lair of the teenager.
I set the pile back down onto another, sighed heavily I’m sure, and reached out my hand to grab his 13-year-old ankle and rouse him.
At which point, looking up to open the blinds, I saw those little boots.
So. One hand on the kid’s foot…the other on the top of the bookshelf right next to those tiny kicks, time goes Way Back:
“..Are you okay?”
[crying] “I’m never doing that again.”
“That bad?”
“I’m not kidding. I can’t ever do that again. From now on, when he has to have shots, you’re going to have to take him.”
“Lol, okay honey. I’ll take him.”
And I did. Every doctor’s appointment thereafter which involved a shot of any kind, the task fell to me, the hardened, stone wall that I am. And, believe it or not, it wasn’t that difficult. The way I saw it, I’d rather endure the temporary crying of a wee bairn poked with a needle than suffer the Unthinkable because something Unthinkable befell him.
That’s just how I categorized it. A little pain now versus a potential Lots Of Terrible later? No contest.
And all that was just fine and I sort of took a bit of pride at being able to be all stoic and everything.
And I was.
Until.
Until he started talking. Because the last time I took him for a round of boosters or whatever they are, he fit into those little boots up there. Which meant he was about three. Or maybe four. Or something like that (read: I’m a dad and, unlike Mom, I do not have a complete working tally of every time he’s gone to the doctor. And, yes, she does. In her head. To this day.) (I will never figure out how moms do this, but they do).
On that particular visit to the pediatrician for that round of immunizations, he was laying down on the examining table doing his level best to be brave. I stood there next to him with that Knowing Smile you wear when you know a lot more than they do and, in spite of their narrow vision, have all the room in the world for their limited understanding and perspective.
And everything was going along just fine.
Until.
Until he looked up at me with Complete Trust governing his little eyes and asked me, “Is it going to hurt, Daddy?”
And.
I.
Lost.
It.
Because it was going to hurt. Not terribly and not forever. And not the end of the world.
But it was his question and the way his eyes searched my face for I’m Not Entirely Sure What. I just realized in the moment that it was mine to do something I didn’t anticipate. Which was choose between a glossing over something small to me but gigantic to him, or meet him with what I thought was an important first step together.
So I took his hand
(there is nothing like a little hand wrapping all of it around three of your fingers (four, tops)
So I watched his face negotiate whether to fall This Way into relief or That Way into fear
So I held it together as best I could and said to him what I truly realized was the beginning of the end. Of the separation. The separation that keeps the hard realities of life safely outside the insulated preserve in which we place our kids.
“…buddy. It is going to hurt.”
I will never forget that face.
Ever.
“…okay, daddy.” And he was braver than I was because he didn’t hide the Scared. More, he trusted anyway.
“But, I’m right here. And it will only last a little bit. And then it will be over.”
And then the doctor gave him the shot.
And the shot hurt.
But it lasted only a little bit.
And then it was over.
And about ten years later, that little kid isn’t so little any more. In fact, last night, he walked past me almost eye-to-eye. He’s getting that tall. I stood there with my arms crossed as he made some 13-year-old-type comment. And then I smiled and rolled my eyes and looked at his mom.
And he walked by.
And I realized I haven’t looked down into his face in a while. And I didn’t really like that, to tell you the truth.
The next day I had looked everywhere for my shoes and couldn’t find them. On a hunch, I abandoned all they places they should’ve been and chanced an investigation elsewhere. His room. And guess what I found? Yeah. My shoes. Now he’s wearing my shoes.
But I didn’t have time to agitate over this latest violation and breach of contract.
He was waiting for me to take him to get his physical.
“Is it going to hurt, dad?”
“Lol I hope so STOP WEARING MY SHOES AUGUST!”
You have many talents; you’re lack of many others for sure. But one of your best it’s written here. You’re so grown-up, so maleness, so parent…, but you’re so tender, so lovely, so hopeless sometimes… It’s watching growing-up again, but now through an adult’s eyes, so close to his very own childhood, that transform your writings into something wonderful and unique. And, above all, THAT IS AMAZING.
It’s not easy being a parent but, who cares? It’s wonderful anyways.
Thanks Todd. That made me cry. Just what I needed on a Sunday morning. Yup. Thank you very much.
It amazes me how the universe can shift when a little person innocently, and trustingly asks those big questions.
Superbly written.