Chup bought running shoes last week.
He has decided to revisit his former vice, cross-country running. In my opinion, not even waterboarding can compare with the torture of running.
But his interest in tending to his mortal body is inspiring to me. I will not be jogging groggily by his side, but I might take up spiritual dancing.
And The Chief suddenly became a giant.
In comparison to his smaller, petite cousin Betsy, my baby has become a boy. His healthy body is round and strong, his skin tanned by the sun. He takes brave steps alone in the spacious green room when I am watching out from the corners of my eyes.
All of this celebration about the bodies of my boys have me thinking about Arlene Ball's essay O My Sons (which cannot be read unless one is feeling very strong of heart). After reading this stirring tribute to her sons, I cannot be the same again. It was this essay that persuaded me to be there when my baby was circumcised--strapped to a green plastic contraption in a cramped office in the back corridors of the hospital--shortly after his birth. It was this essay that has inspired me through this emotional weaning process. I owe something serious to Arlene for writing and letting Segullah publish this essay. It is molding my motherhood.
Read it here.