Precious Resources

Part of our pandemic routine is driving to Waltham two days a week to take care of our 14-month-old grandson so his parents can continue to do their grown-up jobs. Both are now working from home and, like so many other parents, are trying to figure out how to work and parent and stay together (personally and as a twosome and as a threesome) during this time of forced isolation.

Mostly it’s been a delight. Our grandson Isa is, as the poet Paul Hostovsky says, a ‘little ball of interest.’ To be in his presence is to experience the world with a vividness that is life-giving. From the dust motes caught in the late afternoon sun to the dirt in the flower beds to the cars going by on the street, he is amazed by it all. He looks and looks. He wants to touch and hold and get a sense of what it is and how it does. To be a regular part of his world is a deep blessing.

But yesterday, we had the first real injury on our watch. Actually, it was on my watch. Melissa had just gone into the other room. We are very careful these days to be clear about who is on primary duty. Isa is toddling around and his boundless curiosity gives clear confirmation to the old saw about what curiosity did to the cat—I won’t repeat it, but it wasn’t a happy ending. So we make sure, when he is ranging free, which seems to be a good and important thing for his development, that we designate a personal spotter—who is ‘on duty’.

For example, Isa is quite proudly accomplished at climbing stairs. I would give him about a 90% rating in this activity. But with climbing stairs and other physical activities that involve a large downside, 10% falling rate is not good enough to do it on your own. So when he climbs the stairs, one of the adults trails closely behind…just in case.

So Melissa had just gone to the other room and Isa and I were in the kitchen. He opened one of the low drawers, took out a small plastic container then walked out of the kitchen and around the corner. This is one of his favorite activities these days, moving things from one place to another. He’ll make piles of puzzle pieces in a particular place, then move the pile back to where it was before. Just like the Zen student who is ordered by the Zen Master to move the pile of rocks from one place to another, then instructed to move them back again. But Isa’s orders come from some desire to know and understand. He seems absolutely engaged in the necessity of his actions and doesn’t mind the work at all.

But shortly after he got around the corner, I heard a blood-curdling scream. I quickly raced to where he was and Melissa was already picking him up. He had fallen and hit something on the edge of the coffee table. Now falling is not an unusual occurrence for Isa. He’s gotten quite good at it and appears to be much more interested in where he is trying to go, than in whether he falls down or not. But clearly he had hit his head on a sharp edge and it really hurt and he was letting us know.

We looked for actual blood and, fortunately, found none. I felt his soft and vulnerable baby head for big bumps or bruises. Aside from the one on his forehead from his face plant of the day before, his head seemed fine. But he kept screaming. Now I’m used to his occasional crying and he can be pretty loud. But this was a whole other level.

In a few moments, his father, responding to the wild screams that were filling the house, came downstairs and we explained the situation. He held and comforted his son. He did his best not to be judgmental with us in the midst of his justifiable fear for his son, and I did my best not to feel like a guilty teenager caught in the act of doing something really bad. I sent a quick text message to reassure his mother who was having to listen helplessly to her baby’s shrieks of pain while doing her professional best to go on with her Zoom meeting in another part of the house.  After a short time in the arms of his father, Isa calmed down, his father went back to work, we gave him a bottle of milk and all went back to normal.

A little later I noticed Isa’s left ear was red. On closer examination I saw the painful looking bruise that must have been the cause of the commotion. It wasn’t life threatening, but it looked really painful and I felt bad that this precious and defenseless little being had been hurt while he was in my care.

Theoretically I know that I cannot protect him—that his developing life will involved scrapes and cuts, blood and tears. But the realization of our mutual vulnerability – me as the caretaker and he as the child – gave me a new sense of the worry of parenthood (and to a much slighter extent, of grandparenthood.) We do our best to foster our children’s growing capacities, but this means giving them the space to risk new things and to fail forward into their ever-expanding capacities. Too much protection is stifling. Too little could be life-threatening.

So my heart goes out this morning to all the mothers and fathers, and to all those who are taking care of children. We rightly are noticing and praising people ‘on the front lines’ – those first responders and grocery store workers and hospital personnel who are all putting their lives at risk for out safety and sustenance.

But, this morning, a shout out to all the parents and caretakers who are now living twenty-four seven in close quarters with our most precious social resource, our children. May you remember the importance and immeasurability of your endless efforts. And may you find a place to occasionally rest in the middle of it all, knowing that your primary job is to be present to the natural connection and mutual learning that is called parenting.