We Feel Small In The Presence Of Those We Love

Sons Perspective

“Oh, you thought you had me huh!” my father taunts as he lifts himself out of the pool, “Your old man still got it kid but nice try.” I don’t know how but he’d just beat me in a race to the edge of the pool. The man was a lot quicker than I had thought.

“Yea but I’m totally not paying for lunch!” I retort. It was Sunday morning and him and I had just finished our few hours of swimming. It initially started off as something to do to simply kill time as well as kill the dreadful silence that infiltrated our small apartment after my late mother's joyful singing and laughter on Sunday mornings was abruptly snatched from us. It had now officially become routine and although neither of us openly said it, we both sincerely enjoyed this time together. Watching my father, a hairy, overweight, yet to my surprise also extremely agile, enthusiastically get up in the morning and squeeze into his bright green neon trunks while hastily trying to prepare an edible breakfast for us all at the same time, had become the highlight of my week. For a man that had just lost his wife, swimming with his son seemed to make him forget that sometimes. And I would do anything to keep this freshly renewed spark in his eyes that had instantly disappeared after my mother died. Except pay for lunch!

As we both entered the vast locker rooms, towels draped over our shoulders, I noticed that once again, we were the only ones here. For weeks now it has been this way and now i began to wonder if the people in our small complex considered this their way of showing us their condolences. Everyone knew my mother. She truly was an amazing woman. Her crazy unkempt ginger hair was always thrown into a high bun and sometimes with brightly colored flowers placed sporadically throughout. Several of them being flowers my father would randomly bring home to her. She was enchanting on her own but together, they were quite magical. Everyone respected them and the cadence in which their relationship seemed to flow. I had never even seen or heard them argue. They were a match made in heaven and I always felt small in the presence of them together. As if no one could really see me past their awe of my parents. I didn’t mind though. I found myself in constant awe of them too. I’ll never forget the way my mother's face would light up seeing my father walk through the door with another flower for her. “Oh Jeffrey!” she’d squeal as she blushed cherry red.

“Tommy is it me or everyone else suddenly forgot how to swim?” dad jokingly asks as he takes a seat on one of the many dark wooden benches that stretched between the rows of gray lockers and begins running his towel through his short dark hair.

“Ha. I guess so pops. But all the more space for me to watch you embarrass yourself in so I kinda don’t really mind.”

“You mean all the more space to embarrass you, right?” He counters. “What would your friends think if they knew you were getting whooped in swimming races by your 260 pound dad. Er, maybe 300.” We both burst out into laughter. Honestly he was right. I was 6’1, not very muscular but lean and toned. How he manages to beat me I have no idea but I actually didn’t mind losing. I like seeing him bloat about winning and could care less about any of the jokes my friends would make if they knew. Not that I had spoken to any of them in a while. It’s just been me and dad and I like it this way.

“Alright Tommy,” he’d said one day coming home finding me in the living room waiting for him with our favorite sports channel on, “you know you don’t have to stick around right? I know your guys probably miss you although kids your age never say it.” I think he starts to worry about me but I’d rather be home with him. Although I never say it.

Dad's Perspective

Since losing my dear Georgina there was nothing in the world that could make me happier than sitting here laughing with my boy like this. After her passing, I saw a side of Thomas that I had never seen before. Or perhaps was not there. I watched him grow from a young boy that could not for the life of him stay in the house long enough to finish his meals. He was always running out the door to his friends, the skate park, the movies, the teen club around the block. So many times Georgina tried to convince me that the boy had ADHD. I’d tell her, “Nah. He’s just being a kid. Let him enjoy his youth.”. When I was his age, 17 years old, I was worse. I did a lot of things that I wasn’t proud of and I’m happy my son has a good head on his shoulders. That teen club never hurt nobody! But after my wife left us, Thomas seemed to have matured over night. He no longer wanted to spend his night outside. He no longer wanted to spend the time that he was home, locked in his bedroom with his head glued to a computer or video game screen.

He stayed home with me. And I did my best to try and fill the home with as much love as his mother's presence alone did. I tried to make breakfast, do the cleaning, and whip things together for dinner but I felt empty myself. Sunday mornings were the worst for us. Georgina loved her Sunday. I felt like there was nothing I could do to amount to the warmth she exuded while she danced through our small place to a different genre of tunes each time. Until one day as we sat at the table eating a small breakfast I prepared and silently stared at the news, probably both thinking the same thing, or so I had thought until he looked at me and calmly said “Dad. Let's go swimming.” After seeing him take the initiative to try and bring some sort of joy back into our lives because I very obviously was struggling to do it I realized he was becoming a man. And I was in awe of him for doing so. It brought tears to my eyes. In that moment he reminded me so much of his mother. Georgina always found a way to keep everyone's spirits ups. Wherever she was, there was something she was going to do, say, or create to help the atmosphere if it was lacking happiness. And our atmosphere was lacking happiness since the moment she left. It warmed my heart greatly to see Thomas embody his mother's spirit. It warmed my heart that he was my son.

“So son, I was thinking that some burgers from Martin's Cafe should be the perfect winner's lunch for me and I guess losers lunch for you.” I joke while beginning to put my clothes on.

“Sure but you’re paying.” He says matter of factly and I remind myself that I knew when we made this bet that even if I won, the kid would find some way to weasel out of his end. Typical Thomas. “Just kidding dad. I’ll stick to my end of the deal but since I have to pay and all, I want tacos.” he adds in just before I give in and agree to pay. As I shut my locker I turn around to get a good look at him. My boy is really becoming a man. It may seem small but for Thomas, this is big. I can’t even count how many times I had to do the dishes, clean the kitchen, pay for lunch, or buy something because he whined his way out of a bet. My eyes began to tear up. Although losing Georgina has been very tragic for us and I’d give everything I got to have her back, the transformation that occurred in Thomas through his grief is inspiring. I felt small compared to him. He was growing, letting his mother's death serve as a catalyst for his maturity. While I almost let it do the opposite. I’m inspired by the parts of him I am now seeing and that aren’t in myself. The parts he got from his mother. There were two men in the house now.

As I get up to hug my son, something strange begins to happen. Either he was rapidly growing in size right before my eyes or I was...shrinking?”

“Dad! W-what the heck?!” he shouts as his eyes grow wide. My entire body gradually shrinks until Thomas is now a towering giant above me. I am face to face with the dirty soles of his sneakers. Small enough to fit under the small crevice beneath the lockers, small enough that my own son could crush me right now. He stares down at me in utter disbelief. He looks as if he is about to faint and instead of trying to rationalize what the hell just happened to me, I’m more concerned about his humongous body toppling over onto me, squashing me flat. As if I were a bug.

“Hey!!! Don’t faint kid you’re gonna crush me!” I yell with both hands placed around my mouth hoping to amplify my now tiny voice. “Pick me up!”

“W-w-,” he stutters, “dad how the- what the- what.” he finishes just as his eyes roll to the back of his head and entire body goes limp. I quickly tuck my puny body in and roll out of the way just in time. Of course I'm just as dumbfounded as he is as to what on earth has just happened. However, I can’t help but recognize the symbolism of this moment. As of recently, Thomas has been a bigger man than me. I constantly found myself in awe of his efforts to not let his mother's death cause him to revert behaviors most kids his age would have. To the self-sabotaging behaviors I resorted to when I lost my mother at 14 years old. For a second, I didn’t mind being small.