LAUGHING. STILL.

I watch my grown son play with his 21-month-old daughter.

On my mother’s living room floor.

Amidst furniture and photos and miscellaneous relics that carry years of familiarity.

I watch my martial-artist son play with his very young, very kinesthetic daughter.

He is sitting. She is lying. On the floor.

She tries to sit up, putting weight on her arms.

He sweeps his forearm, gently knocking her arms out from under her.

He gently sweeps her support away.

She falls back to her belly, giggling.

She moves her weight to her knees and tries again to sit.

He gently grabs her foot and pulls it out from under her.

He gently sweeps away her support.

She falls again and lies still. Laughing.

And the game continues.

She moves her weight here and there and back to here, all the while trying to sit.

Each time, he pulls or pushes, gently sweeping her support away.

She keeps trying.

She draws from this place, then that…knees, hands, arms, torso, shoulders, now the back of her head.

She arches her spine. She explores her body.

Her ability to leverage herself.

She contracts, extends, contorts.

She creatively strives.

At her own initiation.

In relationship with her Dad.

With curiosity. And trust. And joy.

She discovers there are infinite ways to sit, to move oneself from down to up.

She tries one place and then another.

Over and over.

She is still laughing.

He quits and the game comes to a quiet end.

She sits, then stands. A little dizzy.

She reels slightly and finds her balance.

Laughing. Still.

I watch my grown son play with his 21-month-old daughter.

On my mother’s living room floor.

Amidst furniture and photos and miscellaneous artifacts weighted with years.

I see a collective future, lovingly sculpted.

In this landscape of familial relics.

I share a silent promise blessed with curiosity, trust and joy.