Always Jacked

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Because Lara is home with the boy, she has a better sense of his moods and new Jack developments. Now that he is upright and mobile, resorting to crawling only when in a hurry, she’s discovered something that makes our normally happy, chill child pretty angry.

Closed doors.

He will stand there, slapping his palm on the wood. “Ut. Ut!” he’ll say, his version of, “Out.” Sometimes, there are tears.

Both of us will admit that we are the types of people and parents who not only see symbolism in the everyday, but actively look for it. This, she said, is a good thing. That he wants to live a life going through doors that are closed to him.

As she is telling me this last night, my work bag still slung on my shoulder, the boy demonstrated his newly gained, profound wisdom by having a small meltdown at the door leading to our back stairs.

The line that I’m going to always want to teach him to walk, though, is the one between arrogance and confidence. Absolutely walk through every door. But make sure you do the work you need to do to earn the right to open it.

But for now, we want to keep the abstract symbolism out of his life. And keep some doors closed so he doesn’t split his crazy head open falling down the stairs.

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As I was searching for an image to drop into this post, I found the blog of one George Stranahan. He had posted the above image and the poem Closed Door by Rumi; I’m not much for poetry, but this I liked.

A door is closed.
What if you were on the other side?
Would you open it? Would I
go in or you come out?

Or is the handle there for me
to turn and open, and then
would you come out or
I go in? What if we

Never open it, you and I.

“You’ve been walking the ocean’s edge,
holding up your robes to keep them dry.
You must dive naked under and deeper.
A thousand times deeper!
Love flows down.”