I see a lot of moms.
Working with kids, the community, schools, etc, this is common.
But for some reason today I saw a lot of dads.
Which made me think of mine.
Made my heart ache for that day in Seaside
when I decided I was too old
and 'too cool'
to hold his hand in public.
I actually didn't accept his outstretched hand.
Either that, or I let go of his big, loving palm.
Not sure.
But other than that-
I remember the day vividly.
The tree we were walking by, the people, the beach.
It is etched with sadness in my heart.
Of course I'm with the 'love and live with no regrets camp',
but if I could be
seven (?),
eight (?)
again...
I would have never thought myself
too cool
to hold the warm hand of my father
while walking down the public street-
or ever.
I met a dad today.
There was an uncomfortableness in the room when this man first walked in.
Unease.
This often happens when it is Dad's first time in his child's environment.
Sometimes dads spend all day every day at the office,
but one day leave early to check out their child's art class.
They walk in the studio with the
'ehhh... don't get paint on me-is it okay that you're smooshing that glue with your hands?-I hope I'm doing this right- look.
Basically fish-out-of-water.
But this time it was different.
It wasn't uncertainty I was reading on this man's face.
Perhaps it was pain.
I do not know much about this man.
But I do know his sweet, sparkling, six year old daughter.
And I do know that her mother got very sick.
And recently passed away.
I also know the pride on that girl's shoulders
when she sat down with Dad
at the big table
scattered with supplies
to create together.
To show him a space that has become hers.
The place she goes once or twice a week
and just creates her little heart out.
There was a tiny tug at my heartstrings when I caught him
out of the corner of my eye
sitting in the teeny child-size chair,
pushed in to the table,
side-by-side with his daughter....
glue brush in hand.
I wish I could show you a picture
of what he painted
(he painted!)
at the easel-
but to be honest,
I have no idea what his picture was...
I was not paying attention to that.
I could not get past the joy in his daughter's eyes
as she watched her Daddy paint.
The special sparkle
that only can be seen in the heart
of a father and his little girl.
I know that sparkle.
They worked on clay together.
She made the usual pattern with beads.
The one she is into at the moment.
He made an animal (?)...
We put a glue glaze
to keep it strong when it dries
and sent it home with him.
The way this father and daughter worked quietly connected,
on project after project,
said so much without saying a whole lot.
Today I witnessed-
between a wounded father
and his tender daughter-
The healing power of art.
