Through a Glass, Darkly

I am in the lobby, I protested.

Your son wants a song, he countered.

Parenting in the 21st century seemed awesome when I read Atticus a book over FaceTime from the comfort of my own room. It suddenly seemed considerably less awesome to FaceTime in the lobby of the dorm I am staying in. I sighed and smiled and plunged in. Row, row, row your boat . . . Atticus danced in his chair and sang along. I am not a good singer, but the people in the lobby studiously ignored me, for which I thank them.

After all of my pumping adventures, I guess it’s not so easy to embarrass me these days. You could say that it’s humility via humiliation, or perhaps I’m finally developing a sense of humor about myself. Either way, I sang. In public. I harbor no illusions that it was good.

But I didn’t really mind. When I finished, Atticus signed “more” and so I did it again, a little bit louder and a little bit worse. I was happy to see his smiling face. And more humility probably won’t hurt, either.