Quiet, Soulful Company

Daniel may like to imagine himself as tough and combative, but his tacit behavior often undermines his formal posture.  He loves to say things to me like, if I turn down a request for some snack, for example, "Now I know that you really hate me!" and he doesn't actively seek out or respond to affection, by and large, but he tends to stick around if there are hugs in the pipeline, and, even more compellingly, he dishes out all kinds of sweetness without ever formally acknowledging that that is what's happening.

On Saturday morning, Daniel loves to run downstairs and turn on the TV, now that we have cable (not my idea!), but often, even if I'm asleep or reluctantly-awake, he'll ask me to come downstairs to watch it with him, which I do.  He didn't do that this morning, though.  Instead, he disappeared for a bit - or so it seems, since he seemed to have just returned when he finally did wake me up.  And when he woke me up, it wasn't deliberate.  What happened was, he crawled into bed with me.  I'm lying in bed, and suddenly I hear, feel, and see, peering over the edge of my sorry, hulking, immovable body, the outline of a much smaller body wrapped up in a blanket, almost like a mummy.  And the funny thing was that, even though he didn't go to sleep, he was clearly trying to to wake me up, and instead, he was doing, in great abundance, all those things that small children do when they're in bed and don't really want to be, but aren't getting up either - usually like at times when they're ordered back to bed by their parents.  He was sort-of kicking the wall, pushing off from it, either for the calisthenics or for the rhythm.  He was shuffling around in many different ways.  But for a long time, he didn't talk.  And that's when I got it:  he didn't want to be in bed, and he certainly wasn't inclined to sleep, but he wasn't downstairs watching some awful postmodern superhero show either; he was lying in bed with me, because that's what I was doing.  Ian came in to get us into the Morning Agenda, and probably and move the collective-passive-entertainment-agenda forward, and it was only then that he even spoke, let alone leave the room.

I got up and staggered downstairs, somehow more exhausted than most mornings, and went to watch TV with him and Ian in the family room.  I did my standard thing - especially for Saturday mornings - of grabbing a pillow and lying down on the floor, trying to imitate the excellent activity of the previous hours as closely as possible, without the extra benefit of formal slumber.  As soon as I put my head on the pillow, Daniel jumped over to where I was, plonked himself on the floor, and threw his head onto the same pillow.  The effect of this was to confirm what I had already suspected:  that young Daniel, as wild and independent as he seems to fancy himself, really thrives on affection, and not just getting it, but dishing it out generously and sweetly, without ever saying a word.

(February 2, 2013)