Image by © Martin Meyer/zefa/Corbis

Alphonse and I were waiting in the car last night for A who had gone to run some errands for me (I had him buy some glue sticks from the bookstore). I was reading some messages sent via SMS, quite oblivious to the giggling I was hearing from the back of the car. A few minutes later, Alphonse turned on the interior dome light, apparently to see who he was giggling with. Instinctively, I turned around to tell him off (one of his repetitive habits is switching the lights on and off) when I noticed a young boy standing beside Alphonse’s window. The boy was probably no more than ten years of age, scrawny, dressed in threadbare clothes. He was one of the street urchins who usually offer the use of their umbrellas on rainy days for a fee. Separated by the sheet of window glass, they stared at each other for a few seconds.

Then Alphonse started to giggle, as he looked expectantly at the boy for a reaction. The boy started chuckling in turn, moving his arms in the air, even jumping up and down.. This went on for a few minutes until they were both howling in laughter. After a while, the young boy waved goodbye. Alphonse waved back.  He smiled all the way home. 

Wish that making friends were always this easy.  

~0~

Speaking of friendships, I can’t begin to tell everyone how the experience of blogging has opened the world for me with renewed friendships and new ones forged. With a few strokes of the keyboard and a few clicks of the mouse, I have expanded my world beyond what I know.

Megamom shared this lovely tag with me a few weeks ago (thank you, dear friend) and she has an inspiring (and heartbreaking) story to tell that relates to the origins of this tag. I invite you all to click on the links above and read it for yourself. Sharing The Love was created by a grateful mom named Crystal, in honor of the individual who gave her one year-old son Noah a new lease in life by way of an organ donation on July 7, 2007. Noah’s new heart represents not only the best in humanity- the capacity to sacrifice even in the midst of grief- it also speaks of hope and love that we, as sentient beings, all aspire to.

The rules of this award are: SHARE THE LOVE!!! Share this award with all those blogs out there that you love. All the people who make you smile. All those that make you laugh. All those that make your day. All those that leave uplifting comments on your blog. **All I ask, is that you include a link to this post with the award and ask your recipient to do the same**

I pass on this beautiful gift to the special people who have touched my life by way of the written word.

To Casdok of Mother of Shrek and Susan Senator, both mothers of young men with autism, my heroes in this fascinating journey of life with autism,

Susan’s Nat and Casdok’s C are leaving home to explore the world- to learn, to work, to have fun, to   dream- and while I am as proud of them as their mothers, I can’t help but feel their moms’ worries,  apprehensions, anxieties, and fears. It takes a lot of courage and faith to set a child free to explore life. And so I send this to Casdok and Susan, with all the love I can muster in this world, for being the kind of mother I always dream to be.

To Odette of Little Miss Firefly and Gracey of XOXOGracey, whose ingenious crafts are as remarkable as their personalities,

As Odette starts a life Ireland with the man of her heart, I send her this with all the prayers and best wishes for a happy life. And to Gracey, who brings the vibrant colors of our country’s summers to the Netherlands, I send her this, too, with blessings of more grace in her life. Thank you for bringing color to my life.   

And to Mark of No Special Effects, a brilliant young man whose talents never cease to amaze me,  

A physician in the cusp of his career, Doc Mark is the unusual soul whose interests in food and photography make him my all-time favorite food blogger. His gorgeous pictures never fail to heal my soul, and his kindness to an old fogey like me (he visits this blog, yay!) is truly a gift. Thank you!

 God bless you all, dear friends!

(aka Please Don’t Shoot The Messenger)

Dinner, Sunday night.

Alex: Mama, we’re going to confession tomorrow. (Sounds nonchalant, just trying to make small talk)

Mom: Uh-huh… (mouth full, making yummy chewing sounds)

Alex: And Ma? (stops in between mouthfuls of food)

Mom: Uh-huh? (I get a chill down my spine. I don’t like the sound of this…)

Alex: Midterm grades are coming out the same day.  (Takes a deep breath and blinds me with the metal braces of his smile.)

Mom: Uh…huh… (Inflection on huh; A and I exchange knowing glances.)

Alex: You think they’ll make us go to confession tomorrow so if our parents kill us for poor grades, we can go straight to heaven?

Mom: Uh-oh. (Oh, well, got to give him credit for trying to make me laugh.)

source: http://www.dubuque.k12.ia.us/parents/ReportCard350.jpg

Update: Doing okay in math, but he’ll have to do much, much, much better in Filipino.

(Man, can anyone tell me why this boy thinks in English and is hopelessly terrible in his own language?)

I choose not to give Savage any more space and time; the less said about him, the better. 

We’re back home and back to our everyday routines. Yet, before the last weekend fades into distant memory,  I want to thank all those who wished us well - Doc Mark, Casdok, Megamom, Leirs, Doc Ness, Beth (FXS Mom), Mari, and Odette — your prayers and well wishes are very much appreciated. :-)  Thank you, dear, dear friends. We had such a great time that already I am planning and saving up for the another weekend trip next month.

Last Friday morning, Alphonse woke up at the crack of dawn. He was too excited to sleep, I guess. He kept handing me a picture of ”car” and I had to repeatedly remind him that it was still too early to go anywhere. We sat down and looked at the picture schedule of his day and that seemed to quiet him down.

After a three-hour lesson in the morning, a leisurely lunch, and some play time, he knew it was time to go. He hurriedly dressed himself, slung his pecs notebook over his shoulder, and climbed into the back of the car, a silly grin plastered on his face as he waved happily to his nannies.

Thirty minutes into the car ride (we were not even out of the city limits), I took a peek at the back through the rearview mirror and was surprised to see both boys fast asleep. It’s not unusual to see Alex sleeping at the oddest hours- this boy sleeps as soon as the car starts- but Alphonse is another matter. Still, the day’s excitement was probably a little too much for him. Add the fact that he started his day long before the sun was up, and it  was understandable to catch him dozing off.

We got to our destination shortly before sunset. Alphonse spent a few minutes walking around the well-appointed hotel suite. He checked the mini-bar, flushed the toilet a few times, channel surfed, ate the complementary fruits, and paced the entire length of the room as if counting his steps. Then he insisted on opening the balcony door to catch a whiff of fresh sea air. He took three sniffs with his flaring nostrils, frowned at the thick, salty air that assailed his senses, then closed the door back to settle in on the airconditioned room. So much for nature.

Over the weekend, we were able to bring Alphonse everywhere. Alex volunteered to baby-sit while A and I have a quiet dinner but since I don’t trust two teenagers alone in a room together, we hauled them everywhere. Alex feigned hurt that I did not trust him to watch after Alphonse, and he seemed to get a kick from my response that if I catch both of them in a wild party with girls and drinking, I’d have to ground their a**es till they were in their thirties.

It was amazing to see Alphonse enjoy himself. The last trip we were in all together was almost two years ago, a few months before he went on “siege.” Since then, we’ve been wary about bringing him places, as new people, places, and experiences could set off a major tantrum. Lately, however, we’ve seen in him a renewed interest in the world. He’s been so much more attuned to others around him. And yes, his behavior has improved so much that most of the time, he now simply responds to verbal reminders on how to behave and act appropriately.

We were able to eat dinner at a Japanese restaurant and while he kept looking at the other tables, probably wondering why his food was taking a bit longer than he was used to, he did not whine at all nor did he attempt to grab someone else’s food. He played with memory cards until his food arrived, and when it did (a large order of tempura and a bowl of gyu saikoro don), he gobbled it up almost immediately. Not content, he begged for slices of Alex’s teriyaki chicken, and only after eating half of Alex’s food did he appear sated. Then he sat down quietly, taking in the conversations around him, till we were all finished.

It was the same thing when we brought him to fastfood joints. Here in Manila, drive-thrus and home delivery are commonly the methods of food acquisition we use, as they limit our interaction with other habitués of any dining facility. Over the weekend however, we discovered that Alphonse could now tolerate waiting periods, could eat independently, and best of all, would not grab at other people’s food or drinks. It was such a major stress reliever.

The trip without the nannies was a big test, true, but he seemed to enjoy the independence. Of course, I looked in on him while he bathed and dressed (I supervised), but I no longer needed to help him with a lot of things. Also, he used his communication notebook and pecs cards more consistently; we were surprised to find him “asking” for things and not simply waiting for it to be brought to him. And these were some of the lessons we brought home for his nannies. They were there to watch over him, to prompt him occasionally, to help him cope with the things in life, but they are not his hands or feet. Many things he will have to do by himself. It’s time to stop the babying and let him be the man he is destined to be.

Alex and I were reviewing our weekend pictures last night when he remarked, quite aptly, that our pictures seemed so mundane and would hardly merit any praise as travel pictures. (“Mom, you took pictures of the bathroom? Did you take one of the park? How about the beach?”) He didn’t want some of his pictures shown, the ones where I catch him holding on to his PSP as a fifth appendage, and I had to twist his arm a little (not literally) to convince him to allow me to show people how he sleeps with his mouth open. I certainly agree with his astute observations; I did forget to take shots of the lovely beach and the verdant park. Yet, I explained to him, that this last weekend was not about the destination but about the family, not about the sights but the journey. And if those 48 hours were any indication of what our future will be as a family living and loving and thriving with autism, then I can look forward to tomorrow with inextinguishable hope.

We’re taking the kids on a weekend getaway, only this time, Alphonse’s nannies will have to be left behind. I think of this as some sort of a test we have to pass as a family and the only criterion for passing would be surviving without help for at least 48 hours. I’ve noticed how we’ve all become a little too dependent on the help lately and I think it’s time we shake things up a little bit.  

Then too, this will help us prepare for that trip sometime in the future when it’ll have to be just us for a month or so. If things go well over the weekend, then it’s time to take Alphonse to other destinations.

So far, I’ve got everything packed and ready to go. Alphonse’s bag is always a production number by itself and this one took me longest to put together. While he has his own overnight bag filled with clothes, I have to bring another, albeit, slightly smaller bag to house his emergency needs like a change of clothes and underwear (for “accidents”), disposable pee bags, timer, food, candies, bubbles, his pecs notebook, Lysol wipes, tissues, a small towel, a squirt bottle of soap and a foldable cup, his medicines, and his iPod. See what I mean by production number? 

But hey, no worries. I love the idea of Alphonse stepping out into the world some more. I know he loves it too. Last weekend, when we brought him out to go to the mall to get some supplies, he didn’t stop singing the entire time. He was using his falsettos, throwing off those high notes in remarkable fashion, singing a wordless tune which mirrored his happiness. He held my hands and walked and skipped happily with me and his dad. And despite some minor problems (people literally jumped out of his way when they heard him, as if they were afraid, or many, as usual, stared impolitely), he enjoyed his short trip to the mall so much that the good feeling stayed with him for a few more days.

I hope this trip works out well for him again. I’m cutting his classes short today (we leave after lunch). I’ve brought some of his things so we could continue classes while on the road. Wish us luck!

The Philippine Daily Inquirer carried the other day, June 30, 2008, a most beautiful piece written by Sibol’s beloved Mr. P entitled “What I Learned: The Gospel of the UP Chapel according to Mr. Pagsi.”. You can find it here. Please look up the link, and see how this 81-year-old teacher continues to inspire all those whose lives he touches.

Mabuhay ka, Mr. Pagsi!

My friend Leirs and her family are going through a very tough time. I would like to ask all those who pass by this site today to say a little prayer for her, her husband, and their family in their time of grief.

Dear friend, know that you and your family are in our prayers always.

Sometime in the near future, my husband and I are planning to bring Alphonse halfway around the world to attend a special autism camp. We’ve been preparing for this for months now, working on skills he will need to endure an intercontinental flight. Alphonse has never been farther from home than an hour’s plane ride and we’re unsure of how he will take to this long trip. Were this help readily available in the country, we would not even entertain any thoughts of plane travel with him. The logistics alone burns a big hole in the pocket, and with the economy going bad every day, we’re loath to convert our measly denomination into dollars.

Yet, at thirteen, we feel that adulthood is looming large over our heads. While the camp does accept young adults, we’d hate for him to have to wait for very long before we can see what else is out there for him.

I’m having second thoughts, though. Just the other day, the news reported of a child and his mother being forcibly removed (kicked off?) from an airplane. That the child is autistic only made my fears more real.

I don’t want to go too much into the issue of whether the airlines company was right or whether this was another case of autism discrimination.  I think much has been said against, or on the flipside, in defense of the actions of the airlines company and I would not be adding anything new to the discussion.

But I am appalled at the rabid and vicious reactions this issue has elicited from the population. Surprisingly, the greatest condemnations do not come from autism families, but from people who have little or no idea what autism is, or from those who consider autism as someone else’s problem. I’ve had to keep my tears in check while reading through all the comments posted in chicagotribune.com’s feature “Autistic Toddler Removed from Plane.”

The worst ones are those who feel that autistic children do not have a right to this world, “defective” children that they are. Many are simply too caught up with their personal comforts, thus revealing their own selfish views of the world. Here are some of the ones that tested my restraint and self-control.

~0~

“My momma always said that with kid meltdowns, parents only had 2 real choices - a sock or duct tape.
Duct tape, it’s the universal pick of flight attendants, pilots, and child-manipulated parents everywhere.”

~0~

“Reasons like this are why we shouldn’t let autistic people on planes. Sure some lady & her brat kid got kicked off, but what about all the other people on that plane who were delayed because of that terrible mother & her mentally retarded child. We’ve got to remember the greater good, people!”

~0~

“a good smack and the promise of another would have no doubt resolved this.”

~0~

“Those among us who would like to behave as adults, and have control; both emotional and physical, of our children, should NOT be subject, to this kind of pluralistic editorial poppycock. I have rights and one of those rights is to travel with others who are capable of acting in a manner not associated with those who should perhaps be institutionalized.
“As a seasoned airline traveler who has seen every conceivable excuse from autism to drug addiction used to cover the truth about parents who don’t, won’t or cannot cope with their children…for whatever reason, I would like to say, PLEASE, allow me to travel and enjoy just as you wish to. The only difference between our philosophical positions is that you are in a small, sad minority, and no matter how much attention you cull, that will never change.”

~0~

“The mom should have told the brat, that if he does not calm down, the pilot was gonna throw him off the plane during flight. I’ve seen scare tactics used on kids and they work wonders. That kid stopped and wrapped his arms around his mother.”

~0~

“Enough is enough. I am sick and tired of parents of defective children who insist in them being treated as if they were normal. They are not normal. They cannot be mainstreamed. Get used to it. No amount of special treatment is going to make you feel good about your child. “

 ~0~

“I don’t think he was a safety risk. But I can’t stand screaming brats, autistic or not. And I don’t think that the rest of us ticket-paying customers should have to put up with this. If you have a problem child, STAY AT HOME. I don’t want you on my plane, on my bus, in my restaurant, at my movie, or in my shopping mall. GO HOME. STAY THERE. NEVER COME OUT for any reason. DIE THERE. GOOD RIDDANCE.”

~0~

“Do what I do & will continue to do (to other parents’ kids on airlines): smack their child & give the parents a look like they’re next. “

~0~

“TO STEPHANIE: “Some of you expressed understanding and empathy for the mum, but a lot of those folks, like me, have already had autism affect their lives on a permanent basis.”
“Exactly. And that’s why you are all so bitter. Your lives are permanently affected, so you take it out on the rest of us. It’s hard to feel sorry for someone like you when all you want to do is kick and scream and put a guilt trip on those who do not have children with autism. You underestimate everyone else’s level of compassion because your life isn’t what you had hoped it would be. Sorry, but we all have problems. Just because you have a child with autism, doesn’t mean that your life is any more special or important than ours. Get over yourself. I’m starting to think that autism is caused by a gene in self-absorbed, petty parents.”

~0~

I empathize with the mother and child concerned, as much as I also respect the airlines’ right to impose safety rules. Personally, I think that a little accommodation from the flight attendant (perhaps just even asking the mom how she can help is a start, instead of  handling the child herself) and also from the mother (she should have asked for a grace period of a few minutes and if the child was still uncooperative, then disembark from the plane without being asked to) would have gone a long way into resolving the issue. As human beings living on this same planet, as a community of people, courtesy and accommodation are visceral to living with each other in peace.

That being said, I think I have to speak my mind on the entitlements many feel we parents of autism use to “get our way” in the world. As a parent of a child with autism, I am very  aware of my son’s dependence on the kindness, tolerance, and compassion of others. As such, we have never used autism as an excuse to take advantage of others or refrain from obeying rules. Autism in our lives has not given us a sense of claim and privilege; on the contrary, we have learned to sublimate many of our own needs in favor of others’ comfort and wellbeing. We are always mindful and grateful for accommodations made for our son. And in the event that our son feels uncomfortable or overwhelmed or frightened, we are always first to remove him from these situations. The only real thing we ever ask for always is not to be judged.

Alphonse has missed much of life growing up, and this is partly because, I am ashamed to admit, we are always wary about disturbing others’ comfort and peace. And yet I ask now, if he remains locked from this world, and perhaps one day this too will happen to him- to be banned from church, to be rejected from school, to be kicked off a plane- what does this offer him but to entice him all the more to stay hidden and unbidden? Is your temporary convenience worth my son’s chances at a full and happy life?

Now, I am anxious about flying with my son. I know that there are many things that could have been done before, during, and after this sorry incident. And yes, I will keep all these in mind when I rethink our plans for Alphonse’s long-haul flight. Perhaps there are things we can control, and whatever they are, you who will share a flight with us in the future can be assured that we’ve worked on them to the full extent of our abilities as parents. Then again, perhaps, there are many more others that will surprise and befuddle us. Yet more than these, I am afraid of the hate, and wondering where this all comes from, I am most afraid of the answers. 

I ran into an old friend at a local grocery a few months back. We knew each other when our kids were very small. Her child was in a mainstreamed class in Alphonse’s school. We had the same hours in school then, even as our children were in vastly different circumstances. While Alphonse was a nonverbal toddler who required one-on-one teaching, her son, Q, was a bright, active, young boy with emerging, but very comprehensible, language.

Every morning, as the moms and nannies sat down for the long wait, she and I would seek our favorite corner of the lounge. Armed with our cross-stitching sets, books, and other paraphernalia to while away the long hours of waiting, we would often break the monotony of stitching with idle talk. In one of those long hours, she told me that their families — his and hers — do not know that Q was diagnosed with autism.

I’ve always been very upfront about Alphonse’s condition. The day he was diagnosed, I called everyone in our families and told them about it. My family (my parents and siblings) huddled around us as we all cried that very first day. My husband and I stayed on the phone for hours talking to my in-laws, trying our best to hold in the sobs that tore at our chests all day. And so, disclosure has never been a problem. There’ll be no cloak-and-dagger stuff with autism for us; truth to tell, my big mouth probably wouldn’t hold it in so well.

It was her husband’s idea, she said, to keep it in and hope that in a few years, no one will ever know he was “once autistic.” With his language blossoming rapidly in the year of speech therapy and his different preoccupations less persistent and less rigid, he was improving by leaps and bounds daily. But the secret weighed heavily with her, as relatives would often ask her about her son. Stumped for the truth, she would make up all kinds of excuses for Q’s current activities. She would create alibis for their time with the therapists, reinvent her descriptions of activities to include “normal”-sounding days, and keep her son out of their relatives’ scrutiny to hide the truth.

I did not wish to come between husband and wife, but I tried to convince her that hiding things will not make it any easier for their family. And despite many discussions of this theme till the day school ended, I was never able to change her mind. Before the year came to a close, she announced that Q had been accepted to an exclusive private school, where no one ever knew and would ever know that he is, or was, autistic. Then we said goodbye and I forgot all about her until the day she recognized me in the checkout lane of the grocery store.

I was very happy to run into her. We exchanged pleasantries and made small talk about our unfinished cross-stitched projects (she still has one from the late nineties, I have two). When I asked her about Q, however, a pained expression fleeted ever so quickly on her face. Then she laughed aloud, as if to cover up her embarrassment, and changed the topic. Later I saw her glance a few times over her shoulder to look in on a man and a much older couple. I pretended not to notice and we proceeded to talk about banal things while the checkout lane moved slowly. By the time she said goodbye, she whispered in my ear as she gave me a soft buss on the cheek. “They don’t know.”

Q must be 15 or 16 by now, and I wonder, in all those years, what they told him about himself. I really hope that he is as “indistinguishable” from his peers as they prayed he would be. It would be such a torment to wonder who and what and why he is the way he is without ever knowing the truth. To be “different” and not know why. To feel lost and not have any answers.

I used to think that people like my friend were rare in the world community of autism, the exceptions to the rule. I have met many fierce advocates of their children. And yes, we are a vociferous, vocal lot. And so, to run into more like her is deeply disturbing, yet at the same time, also heart-wrenching with grief. This takes our fight back to the days when the hush-hush mentality was the norm, when skeletons were hidden in the closet, and when prejudice ruled the day. Our only hope is that we can make our tooth-and nail fight for our children’s rights more public and more open as the days pass by.

But just recently, in another part of the world, the same question popped up: to tell or not to tell. In a Dear Abby syndicated column for the Arizona Republic on June 9), a family member posits this very same question.

~0~

Child’s autism kept secret
June 9, 2008 12:00 AM

Dear Abby:

 I have a beautiful 3-year-old niece I’ll call “Serena.” She is my brother “Simon’s” daughter. Serena is mildly autistic but has made amazing progress. We’re optimistic that she’ll be indistinguishable in a few years.

The problem is, Simon doesn’t want our parents to know about Serena’s condition. Simon thinks they would be judgmental toward him and would gossip about matters he would prefer be kept private. He might be right. But because he is keeping them in the dark, his relationship with them has deteriorated.

Simon has threatened that if I tell our parents about Serena’s autism, he’ll never speak to me again. Should I stay out of it or intervene? Is this kind of situation typical with families who have children with special needs?

Uncle With a Secret
 

Dear Uncle:

When a family member is diagnosed with a mental-health disorder, some families “circle the wagons” to hide it. While it’s regrettable, this is the path your brother has chosen. Not knowing your parents’ level of sophistication, I’m guessing he may be right about them and that he prefers to allow them into his daughter’s life only after her problem has become “indistinguishable in a few years.”

If you value your relationship with Simon, do not reveal his secret.

~0~

I have a mind to tell Dear Abby a thing or two, because in this day and age, I feel that “hiding in the shadows” is no longer an option. And while I may have some misgivings about labeling autism as purely a mental health disorder (which is deceptive and misleading, to say the least, although this term is still somewhat acceptable in light of its use in medical circles), I will have to pass on this issue for another time.

There is one central concern here, and this is the father’s acceptance of his child’s condition. That he feels he must hide is particularly revealing of his attitude towards his own child. That he takes on and uses his own biased judgment to predict others’ behavior towards this, that he decides for others what they feel or think or do without benefit of the doubt, is deplorable.

If I were Uncle With A Secret, I will encourage the father to come out in the open. Is he ashamed of the diagnosis? If so, then he must know, that autism is nothing shameful or disgraceful. Is it really just a case of wanting to protect his child from public judgment? Then, he must know, too, that in a world such as ours, we will never ever escape this, so why even bother to run from it? Face it squarely; celebrate your children’s strengths and never wallow in their weaknesses. And then, if this were a case of uncaring, unloving, petty, selfish, ignorant relatives, (of which I have had plenty of experience), then sever all ties with them and disavow them, but do not hide your child and his/her autism to please or appease anyone.

Autism should never be a secret, and in this case, if she were my niece, I will surely sit down with the grandparents and tell, regardless of the consequences of my relationship with my sibling. With love and support, children grow up believing in themselves. No child will ever thrive in the shadows; every one needs light and love to bloom and grow. And in the event that the grandparents are too ignorant to appreciate the blessing before them, then it is their loss, not mine, not the father’s, and certainly not the child’s.

Autism may have its heartbreaking moments, and this is true for all of us who live with it every single day of our lives. But it is also a landscape of learning, of exploration, and of wonder. It need not be a diagnosis of devastation. What it can be is what you and your family make of it. With love, acceptance, and faith, nothing is impossible.

by Erma Bombeck

When the good Lord was creating fathers He started with a tall frame.
And a female angel nearby said, “What kind of father is that? If You’re going to make children so close to the ground, why have You put fathers up so high? He won’t be able to shoot marbles without kneeling, tuck a child in bed without bending, or even kiss a child without a lot of stooping.”
And God smiled and said, “Yes, but if I make him child-size, whom would children have to look up to?”

And when God made a father’s hands, they were large and sinewy.
And the angel shook her head sadly and said, “Do You know what You’re doing?” Large hands are clumsy. They can’t manage diaper pins, small buttons, rubber bands on ponytails or even remove splinters caused by baseball bats.”
And God smiled and said, “I know, but they’re large enough to hold everything a small boy empties from his pockets at the end of a day … yet small enough to cup a child’s face in his hands.”

And then God molded long slim legs and broad shoulders.
And the angel nearby had a heart attack. “Boy, this is the end of the week, all right,” she clucked, ” Do You realize You just made a father without a lap?  How is he going to pull a child close to him without the kid falling between his legs?”
And God smiled and said, “A mother needs a lap. A father needs strong shoulders to pull a sled, balance a boy on a bicycle, or hold a sleepy head on the way home from the circus.”

God was in the middle of creating two of the largest feet anyone had ever seen when the angel could contain herself no longer. “That’s not fair. Do You honestly think those large boats are going to dig out of bed early in the morning when the baby cries? Or walk through a small birthday party without crushing at least three of the guests?”
And God smiled and said. “They’ll work. You’ll see. They’ll support a small child who wants to ‘ride a horse to Banbury Cross,’ or scare off mice at the summer cabin, or display shoes that will be a challenge to fill.”

God worked throughout the night, giving the father few words, but a firm, authoritative voice; eyes that saw everything, but remained calm and tolerant.
Finally, almost as an afterthought, He added tears. Then He turned to the Angel and said, “Now are you satisfied that he can love as much as a mother?”
The angel shuteth up.

~0~

(A and Baby Alphonse) 

The true measure of a man’s strength is his love for his children.