My almost 9-year-old son and I made dinner together the other night. Between laughter, him reminding me he knows how to use the chef knife (and to back away from the onion) and seasoning all new tastes, in his gentlest voice, he asked me why I always listen to love songs.
His question gave me pause. Within a flash, I felt all the moments before and those yet to come like this between us. Those in the future between my son and his friends, his partners, his all the things.
His question melted walls I’ve been chipping away at and opened doors I’ve only wished to explore. In that one curious, all heart moment, I felt a homecoming inside myself. Peace and wonder and appreciation swirling inside and all around me.
I answered him with all of me. And we talked. Talked about love, its mystery, its force, the adventure of loving within to love outside ourselves. In a way we had talked about lions, dinosaurs, tornadoes, Legos, Minecraft, Hamilton, Garfield… We hugged. He told me his apron said, Kiss the Chef. I kissed the chef’s forehead.
A convergence of boundless, unconditional love in one of my most favorite and sacred places. An endless sweetness beyond words. Another stretch mark indelibly expanding heart and soul. This, this is where I want to live.
You trusted love this far. Trust it all the way.
⁃ If Beale Street Could Talk