Comfort

It’s 11:30 p.m. Saturday night. Wild, crazy guy that I am, I’m sitting on the couch reading Friday’s Wall Street Journal. It’s a particularly exciting issue. I like to look at the real estate section and wonder who the people are that are buying all the fabulous multi-million dollar condos, estates and 500 acre mountain retreats that are listed. Maybe if I read the Journal long enough, I’ll be one of them.

Sure.

MBW, Chris and Tommy are long since asleep. The house is quiet. Soon I, too, will go to bed.

Suddenly I hear Tommy moaning. Actually, he’s talking, but it’s difficult to make out what he’s saying. He’s notorious for talking in his sleep. When he first started to do this, MBW or I would rush into his room and try to comfort him. We discovered this often served only to wake him up, creating confusion over what was real and what was part of his dream, and making it very difficult to get him to go back to sleep.

Now we tend to let him talk out whatever issue he’s dreaming about. Usually he’ll stop talking after a few minutes without even waking up.

But this time he continues to talk, and he starts to say, “Mommy…Daddy…” That lets me know he is awake, and he needs something.

So I go upstairs to head him off from going into our bedroom and waking up MBW. I catch him just as he’s leaving his room. His blond hair all tousled, eyes half-open, wearing his footie pajamas, he looks up at me and says, “Dad, I hear a buzzing sound.”

I have no idea what this could be, of course. I scoop him up and say, “Would you like to rock with Daddy for awhile?”

He nods, says “Yes.”

I’ve talked about this before. Sometimes rocking with him will calm him, soothe whatever was troubling him, and send him back to sleep with a sense of security. I’m hoping it will do the same tonight.

So we curl up in the rocking chair we keep in his room. Gently we rock, back and forth, Tommy curled up on my chest, safe and secure in my arms, his blankie held close to he face. I’ve wrapped us up in a quilt from his bed, so we’re warm and snuggly. His nighttime ‘go to bed’ lullaby CD plays softly, set to repeat all night. His room is lit by two soft, glowing nightlights. The glow of his clock (there for MBW and I – he’s not telling time yet) let’s me know it’s almost midnight.

As we rock, I remember the feeling of receiving comfort from my parents. I remember being in the back seat of my parents’ car, piles of blankets and pillows, as we all went to a drive in movie. Feeling safe and secure, lying in the back seat, Mom and Dad up front watching a movie. Occasionally I would peek up over the back seat, trying to see between Mom and Dad as they leaned in close to each other, before lying back down on the back seat and falling asleep.

Now I am the one providing the comfort. I think on this, the responsibility that comes with being the provider of comfort and security. It’s daunting, at times. I have my own set of concerns, my own insecurities, my own fears. Yet for my boys I must put them aside and let them see that everything is under control. Their world is safe.

I’ve done some things in my life that have brought me much happiness, given me great satisfaction, things that I am proud of. I have some accomplishments, have had some adventures, have achieved some goals. Occasionally I replay, in my mind, the Single Man ‘Greatest Hits’ DVD when I want to pick myself up or remind myself what I am capable of.

Not all of them are X-rated.

But this, what I am doing right now, is arguably the most important thing I will do in my life. No, I’m not talking about rocking Tommy to sleep. I’m talking about being the provider of comfort, the sense of security, the Port in The Storm. The refuge.

The Rock.

I don’t mean to overstate this. But tonight I am feeling like the most important thing I will do for the foreseeable future is provide my kids with the sense that I am there for them, that I will take care of them, that I will love and nurture them. The knowledge that no matter what happens, I will be there for them. That I will be there to Make Sure Everything is Okay.

How many children grow up without having that sense of security? How many children don’t have a place to go where they know, no matter what, they will be taken care of, their fears comforted, their needs met?

Yes, Family Man, easy for you to say. Have you been tested? Have you really faced any significant adversity? Sure, you talk big now, rocking your son back to sleep. How hard is that? You, in your safe, suburban middle-class home, with your company-provided health insurance, your little emergency fund savings account, your pantry full of food. Anyone can do that.

What about single parents? What about families uprooted by Katrina or other natural disasters? What happens if a major medical issue should occur in your safe little family?

Are you talking so big then, Family Man?

Hopefully I’ll never know.

But if circumstances should change for the worse, in one fashion or another, I’ll do the best I can. My priorities will be in the right place. It’s not an easy thing in any circumstance. My current situation makes the responsibility easier to bear, no doubt. Remember, many people in my exact circumstance fail at this task. How many people who seem to have it made somehow forget their kids are counting on them to do the right thing? I personally know a few. It’s not my place to judge, and if it sounds like I am, I don’t mean it that way. I just feel bad for the kids who, through no fault of their own, find themselves without the comfort and security that Tommy is experiencing right now.

Deep stuff, perhaps. Probably not best addressed after midnight. But that’s what goes through my mind as I rock my son to sleep.

Which, it seems, has been achieved.

I ease up out of the rocker, gently set Tommy in his bed. Pull the covers up tight, arrange them just so. Position Elmo to watch over Tommy, to take the rest of the shift for me. I know he’ll do a good job.

Tommy will sleep well tonight.

On my way out I hear a soft buzzing sound. I stop, listen close, trying to figure out what it is. It takes a moment, but I finally figure it out.

I spot a small fly, buzzing around one of Tommy's nightlights. Mystery solved.

Now I will go to sleep with the feeling that, so far, I seem to be doing okay at the biggest job I’ve had so far in my life.

As I lay down, perhaps I’ll replay, once again, my ‘Greatest Hits’ DVD in my mind as I fall asleep.

But there’s a new chapter at the end.

It’s titled “Fatherhood.”

It’s great to be The Family Man.