Saturday, December 22, 2012
I forgive you, my Darling Fritz
Fritz said, "So are you going to forgive me sometime too?"
"Do I need to?" I said.
"I just thought if you were forgiving things that I would be up there on your list."
"No. I don't think I have any lingering things that . . . well, okay. There's . . . okay, there are a few."
"That didn't take long."
My Fritz, I forgive you for abandoning me on Big Rock when we were hiking when I was first expecting Eldest. And I forgive you for leaving me in IKEA last week without telling me you were going to the car. There may have been a few other things in-between. I forgive you for them, too.
It may look to some like I'm just playing here. I am playing, like a child plays: with real seriousness. You ought to recognize, my Darling Fritz, that this serious play is not really about forgiving imponderables and abstractions. You should know you are my Seventh Question. You are my Silly Bollywood. You are the Distributive, Commutative and Associative Property of my personal mathematics. You are my Expectations. You are my Real Life.
I could go on. And probably I will. Definitely I will, as we go on as we will go on -- with all our misstepping and mistaking, all our forgiving and being forgiven.
Good thing they go so well together.