a ceremony

The night would be still...cool and crisp with the heavens spreading majestically as far as the eye could see, as far as the imagination could fly...and sparkling with the afterglow of stars millions and billions of lightyears away from our fragile blue homeworld.

The night would be still waiting to be joined by two...the man, earnest but somewhat self-conscious; the babe, curious and trusting and guilelessly open-hearted...stepping out of a warm house to share a private moment that will, however subtly, strengthen the bond between them.

The night would be still and, enveloped by the welcoming darkness, the man would hold the child high...high to the glow of the golden moon, high to the ebon expanse of the cosmos...and speak words to the child that have special meaning to those of a specific time in the history of literary and popular culture (while having powerful resonance to any willing to embrace them): "Behold! The only thing greater than yourself".

The night would be still as the man drew the child back into the safe haven of his strong arms and, a fleeting kiss on a welcoming forehead later, the two slipped out of the night back into the warmth of the waiting house.

I've performed this little "ceremony" (inspired by a scene in the television adaptation of Alex Haley's best-selling cultural touchstone, Roots)...earnestly and self-consciously...three times in my life...with a niece (on a quiet night in Los Angeles when I was barely more than a child myself), a nephew (on a soft San Diego evening when I was man of long standing), and, most recently, with my granddaughter (under a warm Virginia sky.)

I doubt it meant much to them (they were babies still, of course, and remembering was, then perhaps more than later, a fluid thing)...but it meant a lot to me (the truth always should mean a lot to us) and they, all three of them, trusted me more than enough to embrace the odd, little experience with bright, curious eyes and soft, enigmatic smiles. That was more than enough for me.