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Parenthood

Certainly one of the biggest events in my son's young life was his bris.

I have complex feelings about organized religion; my memories of religion involve a white guy talking at me for many hours, sometimes lecturing me on my church wardrobe.

But a bris was important to my husband, so we compromised. The main compromise was this: If we were going to go ahead with the ceremony, then we would at some point sing "You Are My Sunshine" with the guests.

(If I have a church, it's Broadway, but I couldn't see a way to make the guests sing "Send in the Clowns" while Josh was getting circumcised. Who knows all the words to that one? "You Are My Sunshine" seemed like a suitable substitute.)

As the actual snipping occurred, the chorus reached its crescendo:

You make me happy when skies are gray....
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you...
So please don't take my sunshine away...

And the rabbi offered an explanation, something I hadn't known, hadn't thought of. One reason why we perform the circumcision in a group setting is that it helps to "diffuse the suffering." You suffer a bit less if you're surrounded by the people you love. I believe that. The idea is, if my son could hear cheerful singing, he could feel a bit more courage than he might normally feel, and he could soldier through his physical pain and then move on.

I think of this idea, the idea of community, when I read to Joshua. I especially think of it during "The Tooth"--a George and Martha story, in which Martha tends to an ailing George. Martha can't make the pain go away, but just being there and offering tea are small ways of making life bearable. 

Community plays a big role in "Frog and Toad," as well. In one story, Frog and Toad purchase small gifts for each other, and the gifts blow away--but the disaster doesn't really make an impact, because the sense of being connected, being loved, is more important than the actual gift.

And I thought of all this, as well, the other day, when my father-in-law died. I've read that the most helpful thing you can do in a situation like this is to remember the dead, to offer anecdotes. These stories seem to bring the person "back," for a little while, and they help to connect the person listening with the person doing the telling. The pain doesn't go away, but it gets quieter, for a while, which is not a small phenomenon.

My son is nine months old this week. There is that standard cliche: He teaches me a great deal. He did teach me at his bris. I'm so glad we had that day.
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