A Big Heart

Once the office clears we usually chat about nothing important.

Sport, the weather, silly news stories.

But last night he very nearly cried as he described watching his first son crawl for the first time.

The rims of his eyes grew red.

His voice kind of broke.

He told me how his wife had been hovering at the door.

He had been sat on the couch, fiddling with camera equipment.

Their first born, on a homemade quilt, there by his feet.

And right then, out of the corner of his eye, a shadow edged forward.

He stopped. Looked up. Looked at his wife.

Did you see that? he said without saying.

Their son shuffled forward again.

And again.

And then he stopped and it was over.

Crawling! Moving! For the very first time!

He used words like unreal and awesome.

And twice he said how it was so lucky (and so, so lucky) that they had both been there, in that room, at that precise moment.

So, so lucky

He told me how his hands had been shaking so hard and his heart beating so fast.

And somehow he forgot exactly how to turn on the camera sitting right there on his lap.

Finally he described, in great detail, the look of surprise on his son’s face– and how it exactly mirrored his own.

His son, he told me, with the pure white and (so far) unobstructed soul.

Later I thought about it and very nearly cried as well, because I realised the breadth of a father’s heart.

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