But sometimes the planets line up for us.
This morning was such a time. Today was a good day.
So there’s a new Pooh movie out today. And it’s exactly what you expect it to be. Well, maybe even a little better. I loved it, but that’s not the important thing.
The boy loves it. And that’s all that matters.
You see, he and I don’t get to go to movies on our own very often. Autism gets in the way. Most of the time he has difficulty with the movies. Maybe they’re too loud. Maybe too dark. Maybe it’s just that what he’s watching makes him feel sad, or worried, or scared and he doesn’t have a good way of getting those emotions out to the rest of us so we can tell him that we feel sad, or worried, or scared too.
There’s power in community, but sometimes connecting with that community is hard for him.
So like Christopher Robin, he reaches out to a stuffed bear, or tiger, or piglet, or woody and buzz who can understand him. Who will play with him without fear. And they have many great adventures together in the hundred-acre wood.
And like Christopher Robin’s dad, I can watch, and sometimes play along as he goes, but usually I’m in the background, waiting for that moment when the boy turns around with a smile happy to know I’m there, or a tear in need of a big hug.
And I give it to him. Gladly. Trying to quietly wipe away the tears of my own so as not to hurt him or confuse him when I can’t explain how much I love him.
But today was a good day. There were no tears (well, on the boy’s side anyway). There were no meltdowns. There were no screaming fits requiring a quick exit from our time together.
There was laughter.
There was singing.
There was happiness and joy.
When Tigger pounces balloony, by god, there was bouncing.
And when Christopher Robin and Pooh Bear walk off into the sunset together holding hands, the boy takes mine and we find each other, for a moment, in the hundred-acre wood.
And I get to play with my boy and his bear.
The Ballad of Nessie short had it right: sometimes tears are exactly right. Sometimes they make a home.
“And that was only the beginning . . .”