Truth Be Told

I wrote this about two years ago. I came across it, reread it, and actually liked it (it's not very often I enjoy reading my old writings). So I revised and revamped it, clarifying here, elaborating there. Let me know what you think.

This afternoon, whilst I was reading Dickens’s Great Expectations, Joshua, my eight-month-old son, prowling around the perimeters of the living room, was searching frantically for small, dangerous objects to ingest: a bit of tin foil, a red thumbtack, and even the letter C he had pried off an old keyboard. Mrs. Joe had once again accosted Pip “by the hand” when Joshua decided his carpet adventures were over. He pulled himself across the rug to where I was lazily reclining on the sofa. When he arrived, he let out a crude, babyish lament crying, “Father, why must you always neglect your posterity in your vain search of knowledge and wisdom? Put down that blasted book and tend to my needs.” Who could resist such a request? I let down my book and picked up my son. Joshua rested his cheek on my chest while I massaged the small of his back with the palm of my hand. His whimpers turned slowly into deep rhythmic pulls of air, the child asleep on my breast. We slept and dreamt on the couch while the afternoon drifted gently into evening, deepening our fraternal bond.

That was Wednesday, February 24, 2010. My story, however, may or may not be factually accurate. Often, I am criticized for stretching the truth, omitting crucial details, and frankly, telling lies. You, who have accused me of such, have a legitimate argument. Here’s what actually happened:

1. I wasn’t reading Dickens; I was reading Cristina Rossetti’s “Goblin Market”. Laura had just eaten the goblins’ forbidden fruit—a blatant metaphor for sex—when Joshua crawled over to me. However, I had read the first eleven chapters of Great Expectations the previous night.
2. There was no thumbtack: Joshua has never, in his eight months of existence, come across sharp stationeries.
3. Joshua didn’t actually speak; if you didn’t catch this, God bless you.
4. Finally, I didn’t fall asleep. I tried, but I couldn’t get comfortable.

So why did I do it? Why did I lie? In my mind, what I told was the truth. I wasn’t trying to give people an objective, historical account of my afternoon—I was trying to portray what I felt. Joshua didn’t say, “Why must you always neglect your posterity in your vain search of knowledge and wisdom.” But, in a way, he did. No, I didn’t fall asleep with him on my chest, but it was better than any dream I’ve ever dreamt. The factual “truths” didn’t matter, in this case. What did matter, then? The emotion? The experience? The dream? The truth? I’m not sure, exactly. But here’s something that does matter: on Wednesday, February 24, 2010, I experienced my most profound moment as a father.