Tender Moments

My parents largely inhabited stereotypical Asian immigrant parent roles.  Mom was the caregiver, building me up with soothing statements about how I was unique and special.  In contrast, Dad was not stern but nor was he lovey-dovey or effusive.    

But we did have one tender ritual, which was that every once in a while he would call me and my sister into his office and clean our ears.  As we lay on his leg while he examined each ear with a long wooden scooper, I remember the juxtaposition of anxiety about having an instrument inside my ear alongside the good feeling of having the inside of my ear gently scratched.  We weren't a very physically affectionate family, so I guess this is what passed for loving touches for us.

Fast forward to the present and I'm pleased that Asher and I have developed our own little father-son bonding ritual.  I would say that we are far more affectionate in our family, as Asher is still at the age where we do a lot of kisses and hugs and sitting on laps.  But we've added to that portfolio that at every meal, I take a moment to get out the short-bristle brush and comb his hair.

This is a necessary thing for his kind of hair when it is as short as it is now.  But it also creates an opportunity, a frequently repeated ritual, alongside which I can soothe him as my mom often did, and make a physical connection like my dad and I had when he cleaned my ears.  It doesn't take long for me to comb his whole head, but just enough to tell him that his hair is special and he is special and I love him.

He's usually trying to eat or watch TV or both, and he doesn't always find the combing part of the ritual pleasant, so oftentimes he'll grumble or move his head.  But I think another part of him enjoys the routine of it, and that it is something he and I do.  I sure hope so.  We could also use a parent or two in our lives who will regularly tell us that we are special, and I sure as heck am going to take every opportunity I can to be that for Asher.