Last night, I sat near Lucas while lay in his crib. He rustled, he rolled, he churned beneath his blankets. I whispered "Are you asleep?" "No, I'm awake" he said. I waited for him to ask me to tell him a story; about a cucumber, about a broken plate, about a boat, about Lou Reed, about a candy. There was a thick silence, and then a voice. "I want God to carry me." Quiet again. "Can he reach me?" Yes Flaco, I said. He can reach you. "But he's so far above, and I am down so low in this crib. Can he reach me?" Yes mijo, he can reach you. He's so far away but he's close by, too. (Wondering, as I spoke, why do I say things like that? How can I expect him to understand?) Quiet. He shifted again, his somber little voice suddenly mischievous. "Is God a sock?" Flaco, I said. No, don't ask such things. "Is he a plastic bag? Is he a curtain?" Flaco, no. "I know who God is." Tell me, Flaco. "Es mi Señor."
I smiled in the dark and we both fell asleep.
A visit home to Washburn Wisconsin
6 days ago