Friday, June 22, 2012

June 22 Photo: From a High Angle


My son looks up to me. Literally, he looks up to me. After all, I tower over him. I’m no giant, but at 5 foot 8 I’m a relatively tall woman. And although he’s exceptionally tall for his age, he’s only about 3 foot 4, which means I’ve still got well over two feet on him. So I do an awful lot of looking down, and he does an awful lot of looking up.

But more than just literally looking up at me, he also looks up to me in a figurative sense. Here is another human being who is using me as a model for what human beings are supposed to be like. He imitates the way I talk – not only the words and grammar and intonation, but the attitude. If I’m rude to people, he thinks he should be rude to people. If I swear and mutter under my breath, he’ll learn to swear and mutter under his breath. But if I’m kind and helpful, he’ll grow up to be kind and helpful. If I work hard and carefully, he’ll be a conscientious worker, too.
So whenever I’m tempted to act like the kind of person that deep down, I really don’t want to be, and that I don't want HIM to be, all I have to do is look at that little person down there who looks up to me, and suddenly it’s not so tempting any more. He may be small, but he’s a big responsibility.


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