And the Child is Father to the Man
It was many years ago. We were on a ski lift in France.
My son’s mother and I
had been separated for years.
I turned to my son, who
had already become a good father
to his father, and said: „N’s
my girlfriend, you know?“
My son, 12 at the time, nodded,
grunting in assent. „So… what
do you think of that?“ I asked.
There was a long pause as the
lift ascended towards Italy,
from where we would ski down
for pizza and a cappuccino.
My son planted one pole
in each hand, preparing
to push off, then turned to me
and whispered those sweet,
parental words I had so long
longed for. „As long as you’re
happy,“ he said, „As long as
you’re happy.“