Hyrcanian

I strode onto the bus, Keane drifting from my earbuds and a peculiar scene caught my eye. As I strode to the back of the bus, I couldn’t help but continue to turn around to glance at a man that was sitting in the front of the bus. He was tall and lanky, a beige fedora hiding the top of his jet black hair and a pair of aviators hiding his eyes, and around his neck he had a pair of arms from the little boy sitting in his lap. And as I stood towards the back of the bus, I couldn’t help but look at the man interact with the child. Every movement the child made, every string of babbled words that came out of the child’s mouth, every shift in position the child made- the man sat captivated, listening, interacting, adapting.

Maybe it was the difference in hair color, but for some reason I could not relate the two people. To me, they were a random pairing of child and adult- a pair that was brought together to ride the bus together, hand in hand. This was part of their mystique- I wanted so badly to be the man, to be able to love a child, to be able to engage with him, to be able to love the child even though it might not be his own. I was compelled sit across from the man and introduce myself- maybe start a conversation, just to ask him how he did what he was doing.

And as the bus rolled to another one of many stops, the man and the child got up, and I suddenly hoped to see the man get off the bus and let the child go, that as soon as the child was off his lap, he would stop caring because he wasn’t weighed down. But then I saw the man walk onto the sidewalk, child dangling from his arm and I immediately regretted my hope. The bus drove away and I watched the father and his child romp playfully on the sidewalk.

I hope to be able to love like that someday. Even if the child I get in the family I start isn’t mine by blood, I want to love him or her like the man loved his child.

Today, I felt a twinge of paternity.