TRADITIONS OF INTIMACY

My nephew has bought a sailboat for his family of four to enjoy on Lake Tahoe.  His daughters are 7 and 4, and so different that he and I jokingly said just last night at dinner that they might consider nicknames Port and Starboard… not well received by the 7-year old whose nautical vocabulary is still in its infancy stages.  The language with which she is familiar, however, is one which she shares with her sister:  the arm link, cheek brush, hand-holding and cuddling of intimacy. 

Throughout dinner and the following school science fair, I watch my nephew as he engages both his daughters in a seemingly- pre-ordained yet totally spontaneous choreography of touching and gentle guidance so familiar to me.  He seems to wear the cloak of parenthood naturally, recognizing the fine balance of nurturing and disciplining as though he had been born to it.  As he ushers them into their car seats and helps them buckle in, he resists smothering, encourages independence, yet takes time… no, makes time to make eye contact, whisper a secret, cajole with a bit of humor, and most importantly touch them.  It is almost indiscernible unless you’re watching, because I believe he does it unconsciously, as a matter of heart.  His love seems to shape his actions, and his sensitivity to their commonalities and differences is rewarded by their reactions of eager participation.

At bedtime he contorts himself into a position so that reading is punctuated with just the right mix of laughter, silliness, and wonder, before he tucks them in and passes them gently to the Sandman.  I perceive his joy is complete when his girls have had a busy, productive and fun day, and he is there to settle them into a safe, dreamy sleep.

I look ahead and imagine my nephew in command of his new sailboat.  A proficient sailor of many years, he will no doubt enjoy many sunny days teaching his girls to capture the wind and be free to skim across the water.  He will teach them to be capable and safe sailors while demonstrating that love and respect for sailing will coincidentally hone love and respect for all things alive.  And at the end of the day, I see a tired and sun-worn family snuggling in under a sinking sun and a rising moon in 100 square feet of space, needing not a square inch more. 

The traditions of intimacy that families create in this hectic culture must be intentional.  Time can easily become the thief that steals the smile, the touch, the heart of every moment as a child grows into the adult she is destined to become.  To affect that destiny we need to purposefully mark our family times with loving touches of intimacy that will become ingrained as times set aside, set apart.  What better place to start a tradition of intimacy than a wooden and fiberglass shell floating on an ocean of water under a moonlit sky cradling a family’s future hopes and dreams?