A dad I know, I'm not going to say who exactly, gave each of his children father's blessings last night for the beginning of the school year. It's a Mormon tradition that goes back a generation or two. The dad says a special prayer for each kid before the school year starts. It's an amazing and, I think, fairly unique thing that Mormon families get to participate in.
Usually, the dad pulls a chair from the kitchen table and places it in the middle of the family room. The oldest child (or youngest, there is no set protocol, except it has to be a kitchen chair) then sits on the chair. The dad, resting his hands on the child's shoulders, tells the family something nice about the kid, then pretends not to remember his/her name.
When that's over, the dad puts his hands lightly on the child's head and says a special prayer. The prayer usually promises a few blessings, like the ability to stay on top of homework, a good relationship with the teacher, or the desire to be a good example to others.
The experience is always emotional for the dad, who is reminded of how incredible it is to have a child in his care. Dry eyes are rare for dads at the end of these things.
So, we--I mean a family I know--conducted beginning-of-school father's blessings last night. Ike, as the oldest, went first. The dad cried. Mimi, the next oldest went second. The dad cried again.
Next, it was Kitty's turn. She had just turned four and would be starting preschool. She came up and sat on the chair. The dad put his hands on her shoulders and said something about her. While he was saying things about her, the dad felt a familiar sensation on his hand. It was almost as if something were licking him.
Nah, he dismissed the notion. What would possibly be licking me here and now? Can't be.
Still, the sensation continued.
He looked down. Turns out something was licking his hand. It was Kitty, who. incidentally, is not an actual feline. Kitty was licking his hand like a Kitty would lick his hand if Kitty were a Kitty.
After some coaxing, the dad finally got Kitty to stop licking and prepare for her blessing.
As he blessed her, he felt inspired to let Kitty know that now that she was four years old and while her two older siblings would be gone for most of the day she would have to help out more around the house. Specifically, she could help empty the dishwasher and make her bed.
Again, something weird happened to his hands. This time they were moving back and forth in a semi-circle. This motion was not being produced by the dad. Instead, Kitty was--shall we say--disagreeing with the notion that she might have to empty the dishwasher and make the bed. Her head moved back and forth in a very adamant signal that she would not be needing that particular blessing.
The dad couldn't help it. He laughed.
Usually, the dad pulls a chair from the kitchen table and places it in the middle of the family room. The oldest child (or youngest, there is no set protocol, except it has to be a kitchen chair) then sits on the chair. The dad, resting his hands on the child's shoulders, tells the family something nice about the kid, then pretends not to remember his/her name.
When that's over, the dad puts his hands lightly on the child's head and says a special prayer. The prayer usually promises a few blessings, like the ability to stay on top of homework, a good relationship with the teacher, or the desire to be a good example to others.
The experience is always emotional for the dad, who is reminded of how incredible it is to have a child in his care. Dry eyes are rare for dads at the end of these things.
So, we--I mean a family I know--conducted beginning-of-school father's blessings last night. Ike, as the oldest, went first. The dad cried. Mimi, the next oldest went second. The dad cried again.
Next, it was Kitty's turn. She had just turned four and would be starting preschool. She came up and sat on the chair. The dad put his hands on her shoulders and said something about her. While he was saying things about her, the dad felt a familiar sensation on his hand. It was almost as if something were licking him.
Nah, he dismissed the notion. What would possibly be licking me here and now? Can't be.
Still, the sensation continued.
He looked down. Turns out something was licking his hand. It was Kitty, who. incidentally, is not an actual feline. Kitty was licking his hand like a Kitty would lick his hand if Kitty were a Kitty.
After some coaxing, the dad finally got Kitty to stop licking and prepare for her blessing.
As he blessed her, he felt inspired to let Kitty know that now that she was four years old and while her two older siblings would be gone for most of the day she would have to help out more around the house. Specifically, she could help empty the dishwasher and make her bed.
Again, something weird happened to his hands. This time they were moving back and forth in a semi-circle. This motion was not being produced by the dad. Instead, Kitty was--shall we say--disagreeing with the notion that she might have to empty the dishwasher and make the bed. Her head moved back and forth in a very adamant signal that she would not be needing that particular blessing.
The dad couldn't help it. He laughed.
1 comment:
haha. I love this story! ;)
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