Grown up life can be cold and complicated, but some early memories can return like dreamy little comforts and warm reminders.
I remember being about five, and tucked into my bed in my jammies. Dad sat on the side of the bed, and he and I recited the Lord’s Prayer together. He taught it to me by saying each line and waiting for me to repeat it. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…”
After that, there’d be a round of “God Bless” for everyone I could remember: Mum, Dad, my sister, my grandpa and grandma, and probably a few aunts and uncles too.
After that, we’d kiss, and he would say “Good night, Tiger”, and I would say “Good night, Dad” in my little boy voice, feeling a rush of love, security, and warmth, snug as a bug in my bed.
When I was that young, there were no feelings of insecurity, no worries or suspicions, and no inconsistencies. You believed what you were told, and you believed in the man who told it to you.