What Dads do

There is one thing I can say to Robert at the end of a day that will light him up light a Christmas tree on the 4th of July.  When I say this phrase, his eyes widen, he bursts into laughter and he scampers off down the hall happily screaming the phrase and flinging clothes as he goes.

Come to find out, it is a sacred and magical saying and in Luganda is phonetically pronounced thusly:

John Goo Togendi Tanaabi

In English it means literally, 'Come, let us bathe together'.

Now I'll be honest, in the past several years that Molly and I have been moving through this adoption process, not once did it cross my mind that I would be in charge of bath time.  (Yes, yes... ignorant of me, I know.)  And further from my mind, that I would ever become a participant.

In the past, when nieces or nephews had sleep overs at our house, Molly has always been in charge of bath time and I've been off doing whatever else is required to maintain my "World's Greatest Uncle" accreditation.  Bath time has always been Molly's deal.  So when on our second night here, I asked Sarah (our house matron) what we needed to say to get Robert to come take a bath, she told me to say "John Goo Togendi Tanaabi".  Having repeated that line and then assessed his reaction of joy and nearly instant nakedness, I asked Sarah to tell me exactly what in the heck I had just said to the boy.  When I found out that I had inadvertently committed to taking a bath with him, I was a bit stunned. Say what now?  He's the one who needs a bath, not me.  But there was that face, happy eyes and wide grin and excitedly chattering this strange language at me - beckoning me to the bath.  In that moment, I felt a twinge of awkwardness and hesitancy. But I figured, this is what Dads do, so I flung off my clothes and jumped right into the bath - and into life - with this little boy.

It's only been in the past few days that I've come to realize the similarity.  This is what Christ does, only better.  He isn't standoffish - supervising our activities from the sidelines.  He comes right down to where we are and get's right into the fray with us.  He comes as our companion.  He comes as our guide and protector.  He comes to make us clean.  And all of this closeness, guidance and renewal brings us comfort and joy.  And peace.  So yes, I'm in my early 40s and late to the game on many levels but I'm finally beginning to understand my role here.  To do what Dads do.

Despite my hesitancy that first bath night, I'm here to tell you one thing- it was amazing.   First of all, his African skin.  When he's wet, his skin is a dark iridescent brown that shimmers and he looks more like an oily seal than human.  The soles of his feet are unbelievably thick and calloused from running on dirt and gravel.  His toenails are a mangled mess from kicking things.  Those knees of his are leathery like an elephant's.  He's got a lot of signature markings, from birthmarks to scars all over his little 4 1/2 year old body.  But he is beyond beautiful, every bit of him.  I think the best part for me was that I got to see a real live African village kid, used to bathing in a bucket behind a hut, school me on the finer points of bathing.  That night he gave a master class on bar soap techniques, hair washing (again with the bar soap), expert water splashing and rinsing techniques and managed to even wash behind his ears without being told.  He even insisted, with much pointing and jabbering, that he wash my hair with bar soap too so I let him.  10 minutes later he emerged squeaky clean, all of his own doing - and still grinning, if not a little wound up.

The next night when I hollered out my signature phrase, I heard Sarah holler up the stairs after me, "You aren't giving him a warm bath, are you?"  "Yes, why Sarah?"  "Oh you shouldn't do that!  Boys like Robert always take a cold shower in the evening since it cools them down, tones their skin and helps them sleep so much better.  Make it cool water, you hear me?" So I did and the boy didn't flinch.  I however, flinch and wince every night as that awful cold water hits my face but then again, that's what Dads do.


p.s.  Robert gave me 5 kisses tonight as I tucked him in to bed.  He would've kissed me 10 times, but I had to cut the kid off.  I love this boy.