A Cat,The Moon,White Knuckles and Froot Loops

05:53 – My eyes open to a subtle haze and a crescent piercing of  soft golden light  slowly washing away the harsh noise from the blur of memories and images  of the darkness where they are always playing, a few blinks, a few seconds of lost silence and the darkness returns, then a blinding flash of faces , of my first born, “his voice rings out across time and space he is the big ole age of two, its night time, the moon is shining, he slides to me if only to find a way to sit upon my lap, placing his arm around me, he points at the full moon and says “Ball Daddy” “Ball Daddy” ,  “ I want the ball daddy”

I recall the memory of this child, he and I are on the front steps of our house, the images fade for a moment and a void of sadness envelops me and in an instant this too fades with the turn of my head caused by the sense of motion in the otherwise still space of the room.

I am met abruptly almost with an air of fright with a nose to nose meeting of the shadowy silhouette of the white feline queen that is my constant companion these days  a vocal creature that clearly speaks to all that she knows she with her white and black patchwork fur that has crept up and upon me if only to say good morning, a brief pause and I again see my sons face and again the picture fades slowly, as the playful wink of the cats whiskers are reminding me that she wants her morning breakfast, I am if only for a moment lost in the slow vibrations of the cats “purring”.

I again see my sons face , and I recall every details of his first independent encounter with box of fruit loops sitting on the dining room table, it is early morning I have been awake and moving around quietly in our home, and I hear him stirring, I move to a small nook and pause to watch his first endeavor of Independence  he  awakes and he wants food a normal reaction, he tip toes to see his mother sleeping and decides to let her sleep .

Of all of these memories, I can recall, almost at will, I remember most the wonderful expression of my first born son after he had boldly absconded the box from the table. He found at the age of two an expression of great confidence, that I hope he will always retain.

I see the tiny man as he sits and beams up at me proud of and clearly because and from his apparent triumphant victory found in having been successful to have climbed at least twice his height and back  by twisting and turning , pulling and pushing, with great focus and force all upon the massive oak objects of the dining room chairs , around with his legs over the first rung , around the rails and over the second and third rung,  with his hands and arms grasping, if only to complete his maneuver  with tiny nails dug in to the solid oak panels of the seat and table top all without any level of assistance or injury.

The focused child had “scooted and skated” to his objective with great speed and all of the force you can have at the grand old age of two he has grabbed the sharp cornered box that clearly is more than half his size and with a simple tug that yields no results , the little man pauses and as clear as day one can see the spark of light in his resolve as he decides upon a simple quick right hook perfectly executed with absolute text book perfection.

The massive colored paper box moves with the force of a rocket assisted by the smoothly polished surface upon which it rest and tumbles not once not twice and tilts at the edge and pauses for a second as the contents have shifted and lands squarely upright and unharmed , all of two feet and eight inches below.

A wild surprise found only in a face that understands victory and even mixed with brief flash of fear confidence spreads across his face followed by quick exhale and then a subtle pause for a quick backwards glance to see if there are approaching invaders.
The tiny warrior then decides to begin a subtle stalking maneuver,  he first kneels and lies low  all flat and spread eagle across the table and slowly he low crawls and creeps to the edge of the abyss to survey the damage below.

With tiny white knuckles, heavy breathing and a face full of determination, the tiny man inches towards the edge and pauses as he realizes his breath has fogged the shiny surface of the massive culinary oak plateau , delight flashes in his eyes and a brief glance downwards at the clouded surface, he places his tiny hand square in the fogged patch and leaves a perfect hand print if only for the purpose of saying to the world “I was here.”

He literally “peeps” over the edge at his spoils below and once again scans for intruders and cautions a calculated rise to a sitting position much like an eagle and surveys his horizon,  a subtle grin a kin and liking to a male child version of Mona Lisa  is etched upon his tiny face, his focus has shifted to his prize hinted again with a loud gasp and exhale.

A notable amount of time passes and yet if only for an instant later. There is visible evidence that the child is clearly focused now to understand the reward of his endeavors are at hand, in that instant and in a flash he reverses his previous acrobatic movements and with all the speed that can be found when one is faced with the trials of wearing polished plastic footwear that is attached to ones pants and having to finds its way upon a waxed wooded surface.

With even greater focus he has latched on to the huge box and drags it with a bear hug maneuver across the expanse of about 8 feet  over the rugs with tiny beads of sweat forming upon his brow he turns a pulls really hard and the box gives way and He finds that he and the huge box has plopped down upon the center of the living room floor in the center of the space created by having his legs spread with out his knowing because of his pajama clad plastic feet not finding traction on the smooth oak floor
I see the wild blond curls dancing about him as if a halo as he is digging wildly to find the referenced plastic colorful object buried inside.. the detail of which has been lost from view as a splash of the brightly colored cereal product starts streaming and popping across the oak floor in a playful manner  with every tiny hand digging and searching.

The cats voice rings across the chill of the morning air and  burns the images from my mind the movie stops, I rise to morning coffee, a open can of cat food and a computer screen and in this day I pen these words and see clearly that again in a day of work.

The overbearing sadness has enveloped me again, I am always numb, now this morning like so many other gives me a reality that tells me again it has been over a decade since I have seen the child, every moment that passes I always ask will he ever know? Will he ever be allowed to know just how much he has made my life real?