Can you don't?

practicing repair with a cold heart

Dear Z.,

This morning, like many mornings, you sat in your lawn chair on the deck overlooking the cold plunge as I immersed myself into the 2.5 C water. It’s really cold, and sometimes takes my breath away.

Dunk Head! You say, before I can calm my breath. DUNK HEAD! When I’ve worked up the courage to go under, I can hear you from under the water, squealing with joy.

Again! Again! AGAIN!

But this morning, I felt some resistance to going under in the first few seconds, and in my already activated state, hearing your loud and clear recommendations to go under was a bit too much for me.

So, I splashed you with some water. Very cold water.

You did not like that. You were wearing a fabulous red knit sweater and your green corduroys, which now were wet.

You grabbed the waist of your sweater, looked down, then up at me and cried, Why did you do that?

Then, more angry: Can you don’t splash water on me?

And for a moment we just looked at each other, your face all red and scrunched up, and me naked and cold sitting in a chest freezer. I was trying to keep my heart slow, and in doing so I closed it off to you, and splashed you.

You had been feeling such joy and excitement, and I splashed water on you when you expressed yourself.

Oof.

My bad, Z.

I’m so sorry I splashed you. I might have just joined you in your excitement, then dunked when I was good and ready.

It’s so fun to get down on your level to play and wrestle and dance. In those moments, sometimes I feel like we’re both kids, playing together. And sometimes, when my reservoir is low, I feel like a little kid in harder moments, too. I’m working on learning the difference, and being kinder in more moments.

Here’s to learning together, kiddo.

May you always feel safe and secure enough to tell me off when you don’t like something that I’ve done.

Love,
Sean
(the only name you call me anymore)