Yesterday, my five-year-old son asked if I would play with him. When I said yes, he put his forehead against mine, we looked into one another’s nearly-singular cyclops eye, and then, holding my head in his hands, he backed his face away and said, “What do you see?”
I had no idea where this game was going, so I said, “my monkey?,” which is what I call him when he climbs all over me.
“Nope!,” he said, putting his forehead against mine. We laughed together and then, just as before, he pulled away asking, “What do you see?”
I guessed “a chicken!” because sometimes I call him “chicken pants” . . . for some reason I no longer remember.
He said, “Nope!,” and the game continued just the same as I guessed a number of animals, fruits, and vegetables, all of which were, to his amusement, wrong.
Finally, I said, “Can you help me out a little?” He said, “Sure! You ask me this time!” So we looked at each other’s cyclops eye, and as he pulled his head away I asked, “What do you see?”
And he said, “Myself!”
We hugged, and I said, “Yes, son, you see yourself in me, and I see myself in you too.”
What a blessed moment of connection it is when we see ourselves in another — whether parents and children who share physical features, or any two people who see their personality, philosophy, or life experiences reflected in another — because those moments of connection can, if we choose to let them, be entrances to moments of wonder about the Infinite One . . . who connects us all to one another.
shavua tov, jen