The Show

I've been blogging for just over two years which, in the general scheme of things, is like a mustard burp on the sands of time. Even in that short time, though, I've begun creating traditions on this blog because, well, hell, I'm a traditional sort of guy.

One of those traditions is posting "The Show" on my son's birthday. I wrote it several years ago, when I lived some ways away from him. It was the middle of the night, his birthday in fact, and I couldnt sleep. So I sat there, in my living room, the only light being that of the computer monitor, and I began to write. This is what came out. Happy birthday, son. I love you.

At three o'clock in the morning, the air tastes like wet salt; there arent many cars on the road and the traffic lights all blink soft yellow. Time moves slow and easy at this hour but I don't. I can't afford to. I just got off work and I have to get home.

The show is about to begin.

I step inside our apartment...noticing how the door always seems to squeak louder when it is three in the morning and I am trying, like God's proper pupil, to be quiet as a mouse. Lord knows she doesnt deserve to have her sleep intruded on..even by her erstwhile husband who just spent the last ten hours making sure excellence reigned supreme down at good ole Dennys. I smell like grease and taste like bitter coffee and a long hot shower would feel like absolute nirvana but the bliss is going to have to wait....the show is about to begin.

With a simple click, the hall lamp casts light through the corridor and into our impossibly small bedroom where the love of my life slumbers peacefully; oblivious to the audience of one who has just removed his coat and is now slowly tiptoeing his way along the worn floorboards toward the bed. Shhhhh.....got to be quiet now....

She lies on her back... cast in light and shadow...there is enough illumination so I can see but not enough to bring her cruelly back into the world of reality. I kneel before the bed as a supplicant would. I reach out and carefully pull the covers down from her chin so the upper half of her body is exposed. She shifts slightly but remains safely behind the wall of sleep. I softly pull her T shirt up so her stomach is visible in the pale light and I smile.

This is the moment I have waited for all night, the anticipation of which constantly brought me excitement and euphoria throughout the evening. My heart leaps with joy.

The show has begun.

My wife has been pregnant for so long I can't remember when she wasnt. She is short and my future son is big and the combination is the cutest thing I have ever seen. As I kneel before my family, I feel as if I am going to burst from all the emotion welling up inside.

They are beautiful.

Her stomach literally rolls from side to side. I nearly laugh out loud as I watch; fascinated. I have no idea why I was so worried about making noise earlier, if she can sleep through this then she can sleep through almost anything.

I place a gentle finger just above her belly button....my son pushes back. I touch her side...my son touches me. We play this game for awhile...cat and mouse...who will strike where next?? Then I rest my head upon her tummy, trying desperately to hear his heart beat. Of course he kicks at me again as he doesnt know the difference between my finger and my ear.

I pull away and watch with overwhelming pride as my son dances on his tiny, cramped stage. As always the show doesnt disappoint...how could it? It is a dance to the music of innocence and glory and if there is anything I can truly believe in then it is this wonderful display of God's miraculous handiwork.

So...at three o'clock in the morning, when even sparrows are dead to the world, my son dances and I sing along; quietly as there is a limit even to my wife's oblivious slumber. My voice is soft but clear...the words are nonsense but they make perfect sense to me. I sing in praise of my son and all he represents.

And, by God, in the twenty three years since....I havent stopped.

Posted by Mr. Helpful at January 22, 2005 09:17 AM