I haven't walked in two weeks because of a severe ankle injury so I sometimes have to crawl. And I'm grateful, grateful that my right leg is strong enough on its own to lift and lower my body as needed. This morning, while crawling the short distance from bed to bookshelf, I remembered reading somewhere that crawling is part of the physical process— the holistic business—wherein humans first begin to learn math. We can add and subtract because we crawled. Of course, humans also find alternate ways of learning when necessary. We compensate. So here I am, nearly 60 years old, crawling while frustrated and amused. But, hey, this past weekend, I noticed a small Lego piece wedged into a corner between carpet and wall. I only saw it because I was so close to the floor. I only noticed because an outside event had altered my perceptions of the world. That's when I realized that we don't need to search for ceremonies because the ceremonies will find us. So crawling as an adult has reminded me that my sons once crawled these same floors. I think of how they'd sit back on their haunches, raise their arms toward me, and asked to be lifted. And I would, I would— I carried my sons across a thousand landscapes. So, decades later, trapped by injury, I text my son, "Hey, can you bring me some ice water, please," which is an aging father's way of asking "Dear child, dear child, can you now lift me?"
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Wonderful poem, thank you! The ending made me cry.
Children with Downs Syndrome don't speak well because they couldn't crawl, and crawling triggers speech (and math, didn't know that). So many of these kiddos now are taken for horse therapy, where they are put on the horse and walked around, because the movement of the horses' hips mimics crawling, it helps the child's speech. And just because horses are AWESOME.
Oh man. Beautiful. This one really got me. Reminded me of my dad who passed last year. We start out crawling and one day return. (Not that you're at that point yet, hahaha!)