He stands in a corner engrossed in his toys. Teddy bears in one table, picture cards in another. His toy ladle and cooking pot is lined up with his cars. He hums a tune. He holds his boat and flicks it. He is fascinated by his flicking. From afar the boat is already a blur. For him the same blur is his source of calm, order. It is his play. It is his world.
I finish making his toast bread and wonder if I should continue my readings on mobility. I decide not to and pick up his basketball. I begin dribbling. He does not mind me. I call out to him, "Garret come, play with mama." He looks up briefly then continues to flick his boat. I continue dribbling, and shoot the ball in the basket. I prod him again. "Garret it's your turn." I vary the tone of my voice-- Sing-song. He gives in after a few moments, approaches me and I pass the ball to him. He catches it deftly and begins dribbling it immediately. We go back and forth, my turn, his turn. No smile at first then eventually a grin, him forgetting his toys and actually begin to enjoy playing with me. For thirty minutes we play ball non-stop. Laughter. Enjoyment resounds in his laughter. I laugh too. We laugh together. We are in each other's company, basking in one another's laugh. All sweaty, he gets his water bottle and rests. I rest too. But my heart is beating like that of drums emanating a festive symphony of gratitude and wonder at the miracle that just transpired.
Not too long ago I wondered whether he will ever know me as his mama. Not too long ago I wondered whether he would know my love for him. Not too long ago I wondered whether he would ever reach out to me, acknowledge me. Not too long ago I wondered about many things. Today was the future I wondered about, that I so feared, that I was so uncertain of yesterday.
And today, as I invited him to come enter my world, my son laughed and played with me.
Today was one fine and marvelous day.