Two days ago a snowstorm rolled into town. The temperatures were double digits below zero Celsius and it was bitterly cold as we were walking back home with the boys at the end of the school day. The snow itself was powdery on the surface but there were invisible patches of ice underneath.
Just as we were about to reach our building, I slipped and hit the ground. My hands were busy with their book bags and I couldn’t break the fall properly. So I now have a torn ligament in my left hand and am looking at three weeks wearing this brace.
This morning we walked by the same spot were I fell. Without a word, Luca reached for my right hand and held it tightly in his, wanting to make sure I wouldn’t fall once again.
It reminded me of how in Korea parents are referred to in relation to their children; to anyone in the neighborhood, I’m not Jaime. I’m “Olin and Luca’s father”. I love hearing that. It always makes me think that people recognize that being their father is my greatest accomplishment.