On My Father's Shoulders

I have encountered many pastry recipes that listed a pinch of salt as one of the ingredients. At first, I found this quite peculiar. Why add salt to a mixture that is supposed to come out sweet? But after taking a bite off the first treat that comes out of the oven, I begin to understand the reason for the 'odd' instruction. Sugar is sweet and we expect it to be so; but, who would have thought that it is the few grains of salt that give the sweetness something to contrast with, essentially adding a layer of flavor to what would otherwise be saccharine monotony.

I would like to believe that the same can be said of physical strength. Sinew and power are only truly underscored when they are used to perform the most gentle of acts. As a young child, I would constantly bear witness to my father's daily feats of strength: moving heavy furniture around the house, swinging my book-laden school bag into the trunk of the car, and carrying my younger brother to bed when he would fall asleep on the living room couch while watching TV. When one is little, it would seem that there is nothing that one's father couldn't do. I remember 'flying' out of the theater, while precariously perched on his shoulders, after we watched Superman. Not once did I ever consider the possibility that I would fall.

Last Sunday, January 8, my father celebrated his 64th birthday. His step is a lot less sprightly and his once mighty shoulders have drooped with age. I find myself battling with the thought that there will come a time that he will have to lean on me for support. And if the cruel fates should conspire, I will be the one carrying him off to bed. I dearly hope not. Yet, at the same time, I am thankful for having had the chance to sit atop his shoulders that day at the theater because in that very moment I learned the true meaning of strength.

Happy birthday, Pops.