about sticking your fingers up other people’s noses

In the plane from Copenhagen to Amsterdam: A father kneels in front of his one-year-old son to indulgently let himself be annoyed. The son picks at his father’s face, and every time a couple of fingers venture into an opening or scratch so hard it hurts, daddy abruptly pulls his head away and then returns. A game, a little lesson in other people’s physical boundaries, a love declaration of patience. The son’s inner monologue clear as daylight around him: “Will you hold still so I can stick my fingers up your nose! Why are you being so difficult!?”

Later: His tiny hands appear, crawling like monkey fingers up the back rest. He sees me smiling at him between the seats and smiles back like only a child that is loved can smile: Unrestrained, confidently affectionately; Still in the happy state between the moment when he realized that someone catches him when he falls – and the moment when he realizes that mutual smiles from the heart are not a basic fact of life, but a direct consequence of his cuteness.

Behind me the grinding double monologue between a grandmother and her grandson, looking for words to have in common.

And it suddenly occurs to me that it’s not love to ask you to stop suffering.

En tanke om “about sticking your fingers up other people’s noses

  1. Ved at læse den engelske version blev jeg var at der er en grammatisk finte i teksten, et rafineret spil i barnets bevidsthed mellem en usikker førnutid og en nutid der peger frem mod en formentlig ret fjern fremtid. Barnet er i virkeligheden allerede en voksen i digtets univers.

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