Note: The most effective, lingering and “memory-making” parenting is measured in brief but wondrous moments that, unless recorded, would otherwise be lost as stories-unavailable to both present and future generations of parents looking to transform the “every day” into the “everlasting.”

“Son”

     My father calls me “son” more often than he calls me by my name, and because I am my father’s son, I adopted the same usage with respect to my boys. Kimberly, my daughter, I
call: Kimuschkele, Kimmy, Kimmy Babe, Sweetheart, Sweety, Sugar. You get the idea. The list is as saccharine as it is lengthy.

     When Ben was little, people called him by the diminutive “Benji.” There was always something so grown-up sounding about “Benjamin” or “Ben.” You know what I mean?

 “Ach, such a shayna punim[1], my baby Ben!"

 Sounds funny like Morris, Irving, Harry or Sam. I always enjoyed Ben’s name[2]. As a matter of fact, even as a young adult of twenty-two years, 6’ 2” in height and around 250 pounds, many still called him “Benji”-as did I on occasion though he didn’t like it very much. So it became my habit to call him “son” or “sonny boy.”

  One evening before bedtime, he mustn’t have been more than five years old, we discussed ornithology,[3] of all things.

“Daddy?” he wondered.

“Yes, Sonny Boy.”

“How come the birds don’t fall out of the sky?” he asked brilliantly, but not without a partly suppressed yawn.

“Huh? I was caught off guard.

"Oh, well ... d’ya feel the breeze on your face when you’re outside, son?”

“Yea, Dad. It feels good," he answered with wonderment, cheerfully following along.

“What you feel Son, is God’s breath that He blows, you know, what we call the ‘wind.’”

“Ooookay,” he responded, appearing somewhat quizzical, “but Daddy remember the birds?” he dutifully reminded me.

“Yes, Son, when God wants to, He blows his breath,” I said.

“Like this, Dad?” he asked, inflating his cheeks and blowing.

“Yes, Ben, just like that, but when God blows his breath, it catches under the wings of the birds and lifts them up.” I explained.

“Ooooh,” he replied, scratching his head, eyebrows perplexed but clearly intrigued by the answer.

[1] Yiddish: a pretty face

[2] In Hebrew, “ben” means “son."
[3] The scientific study of birds; avian science.