Culture, Entertainment, gentlemen, home, Lifestyle, love, marriage, Top-Blogs, US, women, world

My Little Cub…

“What song do you want to dance to?” asks Oldest Chicken.

He’s referring to the mother-son tradition. His wedding is little more than a week away. We spend hours on the hunt. Feeling quite Goldilocks-ish. This one is too hard. This one is too soft. Seems finding the one that’s “just right” should strike me like a bolt from above. Don’t I know this child better than anyone?

So far, no bolt.

Where is the song that remembers he spent his younger years climbing trees, exploring woods, fishing ala Opie Taylor and tearing the heads off naked Barbies? Where is the anthem that catches his first breath, missing teeth and saving neighborhood strays, both human and non? Where is the lullaby that sums up Good Nite Moon, the wild things rumpusing and the soundtrack from The Lion King?

My mind wraps around a towheaded little one, dancing about, informing us all he just can’t wait to be king. Somehow that one doesn’t seem apropos. Although his pair of sisters and precious Baby Pea would recognize the song’s importance from first note. And join in the fray. Would a cacophony of little ones, all grown, screeching along with Simba really be that bad? Just in case you forgot how much fun it was!

What collection of words and tune captures a blue blankie rubbed to disintegration, cookie baking perched on a kitchen counter and snow forts accommodating a boy and his dog?

Are there lyrics to express the anger, grief and profound loss of the father that taught him to throw a pass, drive a car and bring flowers to his best girl? Are there descriptors for his absence on such an important occasion?

There are no verses for lessons lost and advice ungiven. I do know his father’s repertoire would include: Say you’re sorry even when you’re not sure why, rub her feet and back when she’s carrying your child and kill all the spiders. Be nice to her friends. Don’t be the reason she cries.

His mother would say, lower the toilet seat–she’s a tiny little thing–if she falls in, we’ve got a problem. Never take even one day for granted. Harsh words are what you regret if you should ever lose her. Listen without fixing but know when it’s time to take over. When in doubt, hold her close.

Perhaps the song, the one that holds the secrets to mothers and sons, has yet to be penned. Perhaps it’s in the heart of a small boy, my little cub, just happy to be making it through the jungle.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s