The poet

Much as I enjoy reading Willy’s charming anecdotes about his children, or thrill to Nick’s unmistakable pride in his children,  I have refrained from writing about my own family. In large part, this enforced restraint is due to the experience of a very good friend, who grew up, in a rather public way, and without her consent, as a COC —- that is, as a Child of Columnist.

But today I would like to make an exception.

Early this morning, at a little past three in the morning, we woke up to find our three-year-old son Jake running a high fever. We started to wake him up to give him medicine, but it took some time. It was, after all, a little past three in the morning. Finally, he was awake enough to say No to the medicine. "I’m so sleepy," he said, again and again. "My body is so sleepy."

We tried again. "I’m so sleepy," he said again, and then added: "I"m so sleepy as highest clouds." It took us some time to realize that he meant his sleepiness was "as high as" clouds. But you have to take your medicine, we said. It’ll be over quickly, and then you can go back to sleep. "But I’m so sleepy," he said again. "Highest," he started to say, and we gently corrected him: "As high as?" Yes, he said. "I’m so sleepy, as high as … the planets."

Ah. Cosmic pleasures are the best.



Filed under Spiral Notebook

2 responses to “The poet

  1. And he’s only three and had a high fever yet!

    One can only imagine the possibilities when he is well and grows up.

    You will probably end up as FTP – father of The Poet.:)

  2. He’s also like your daughter in another way: pusong mamon : )

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