Boyish Charm

I’ve found myself, increasingly in recent weeks, turning back the clock, as it were. I am boy, hear me giggle.

I adore being a dad. I cherish those moments of uncomplicated joy that come from watching my son play, or dance, or babble. And of course, seeing in his face the happiness I bring him with a toss in the air, or a pass through the leaves, or rumble in the grass serves only to strengthen my silly resolve.

I’ve always been rather willing to sacrifice absolute gentility for a chuckle. I do not seek to be vulgar, but I certainly have no qualm with unabashed physical comedy when appropriate. I am regularly goofy, without excuse or regret. You can imagine, I’m sure, the satisfaction I receive from living with a toddler who has yet to develop the least bit of propriety.

Some time in the last few days it struck me just how much my maturity has regressed since Jack sprouted a fondness for the outdoors. As I was poking at a pair of mating cicadas with a long branch I had picked from the ground several minutes earlier, I realized that Jack wasn’t really around to observe this strange creature; I was actually playing with a bug for my own amusement! Well, I think it goes without saying that the shrill of a cicada is the best experience this world has to offer, but I haven’t done that sort of thing since grade school.

I take new delight these days in childlike exploration -- digging holes in the ground, pouring water from a bucket, the feel of sand, puddles and sticks, swings and poles. I have once again a sincere interest in the untaught physics of the natural world.

I work with a man who is father to seven children. I have witnessed this man display this same sort of unpretentious curiosity with nature before in the past, but I passed it off as a quirk of his personality. But now I think I understand a little more what it’s about, and I think it a good thing. His is a joy of life; I dare even describe it as a posture of thankfulness, for one cannot take joy in without first offering thanks for such simple pleasures. Maybe this is just another one of the many gifts God gives unsuspecting parents through children.

As we approach the arrival of our baby girl, the thought has crossed my mind that I may acquire, in similar fashion, some components of femininity. Perhaps the beauty of a flower will more readily capture my eye, or the softness of a ponytail my touch. Whatever the girlish change, I fear it not. The good things God has yet to work in me are welcome, even if it means playing with bugs.