the circle of her embrace

Sage was sitting on the floor watching TV and leafing through a picture book while Nikki and I sat on our bed, looking through the fresh stash of reading material I dutifully brought home.

For a moment, I was transfixed by the sheer domesticity of my situation: a day’s work; a delicious dinner of pork stir-fried in sesame seed oil, rich menudo and hot rice; and conversation followed by companionable silence with the two women I loved. That moment characterized what was mundane and magical, surreal and everyday about my life. It was a moment that seemed no more special than any other moment, certainly less exciting, less dramatic but not any less meaningful.

I looked to see what Sage was watching. It was a Disney film about a father and his daughter, wrapped in one of the most sacred trapping of Americana, baseball.

“What’s that about?” I asked my three year-old.

“It’s about a little girl and her dad,” Sage replied, resuming her multitasking.

“Oh, look,” I said, putting down my book. “She’s embracing her dad. That’s sweet.”

Sage stood up, climbed up the bed and sat next to me.

“Dad,” she said with a tiny frown. “I embrace you all the time.”

And I was lost in the space between my daughter’s small arms, brought to tears by my daughter's assertion of truth which had all the power and glamour of everyday magic behind it.