I think it might have been the best moment of my life.
There we were, playing on the playground this evening after dinner, and you asked about the shadows. I, not thinking that there is anything wrong explaining the refraction of light to a toddler, began to wave my hand up and down in front of the sun as I showed you the shadow it makes as it moves.
"There! See? On the bars there...you see the shadow is shaped like my hand because when I move my hand in front of the sun, it blocks out the light!"
You looked at the shadow. Then back at the sun. Then at the shadow again.
You seemed rather nonplussed, so I wandered over to the little bridge and let you play about on the perforated plastic platform. I got lost in some thought about how nice the evening was or some such thing.
Then, over my shoulder, I heard your little voice ask, "Daddy, tell me things!" I turned around, amazed, and said, "Sorry?"
"Tell me things more, Daddy!"
I couldn't help but stifle a little tear. I have never wanted anything more than to have a conversation with you...to tell you things and for you to tell me things. What's more is that I didn't even know I wanted that until the moment you said it.
So I stifled my tear and I told you things. I told you why nighttime comes and why metal bars make noise when you tap them. I told you how trees grow, how sand is made of little rocks and how snow turns to water when you hold it.
Finally, I told you I loved you and told you that we could go home and see Mommy.
A perfect evening, all in all.
Night night.
Daddy (the teller of things)
