Tibetan Singing Bowl

So there you have it.

“Mine!”

When I opened the package and took out the wooden mallet, the bowl resonated with the exact musical intonations I had been hoping for.

The twinkle in my son’s eyes added to the magic of the moment. With a foundation of pure natural talent, he reached for the mallet and swung his little arm in perfect motion….

“Bong” sang the newest member of my bookshelf collection.

Actually, it was more like “baaaaaaahhhhhhooooonnnnnggggggg” in a humming, inviting tone for nearly a minute.

Smiles blossomed, the spiritual match ignited fires deep within, laughter filled the air.

And then I reached for the bowl…I was going to teach Micah how to make the bowl sing. Suddenly the words I had been dreading emerged effortlessly signaling the newest addition to my son’s limited vocabulary.

“MINE!”

My son can hop with both feet off the ground, climb furniture like an animal mix of part monkey and part goat, outrun two out of every three family members, and say with clear annunciation and correct pronunciation a handful of words.

First was the nonsensical babbling that only his mother seemed to understand.

Then the words “mommy” and “joe” and “bye” and “eat!” joined his limited and innocent attempts at human communication.

Now there is “Mine!”

And with “MINE” I will no longer know what it is like to have something that is mine.

It is his world and the sooner I accept that my role is merely that of jester, butler, chef, and chauffeur…the greater my chances of reaching my destination upon the road less traveled; the proverbial eightfold path.

Did I mention I just got a Tibetan singing bowl?

He is my Buddha and I love him.

And the bowl is not “mine” it is his!

Parenting without a license...

Just the other day I held my daughter in my arms and we cuddled as we watched a movie together. I realize that a day will come when my baby girl grows up and spending time with “daddy” will no longer be among her most favorite things.

But for now, she tells me “Daddy, I’m gonna be your little princess forever!”

Just today my stepson ran into my office just to fart. He laughed and ran away! Of course I had to chase him down the hall, but with a sick perverted pride I confess that he got me good. I am in no hurry for the day that will come when I no longer hear the sound of nonstop video gaming in the other room while I work in my office.

Being a parent is probably the greatest thing that I never knew I always wanted to be someday. From the pride of having one child in college and another on the way, to the challenges that each child seems to bring on the daily; being a parent is a full time job.

It’s a hit and miss kind of process. The hits are out of the park at times, but the misses can be monumental.

Such as the night, without hesitation, that I gave my youngest son a Mohawk.

Sometimes an idea seems so much better in ones head than it is in actuality. The little alarm that goes off ringing “bad idea, bad idea” just does not seem to be as fast as my ability to move from vision to action.

By the time the alarm went off, I was already laughing at the thought of the trouble I was going to be in when my wife woke up.

For Micah, I am loved and trusted unconditionally. I am his father, his safety net, his security blanket, and his caregiver.

Shaving his head bald did not hurt him in any way; not emotionally, not physically, not mentally, and not spiritually.

Rubbing the Buddha head in circles as he sleeps brings me great comfort and tranquility; the connection seems to bring us both serenity.

Hopefully I will be as forgiving with him when he starts to write on the walls and furniture with a permanent marker.

Doubtful, but I can hope.