There are special moments that parents share with their children, I am finding. Sacred moments.

I was thinking of them the other night.

I had a tough day a work. Recovering from an illness. Family issues on both sides. Christmas was just a few days away, and all I wanted to do was go home and get some rest. My wife had dropped off our son at the office so she could make a beeline wherever to finish her shopping.

“He hasn’t slept much, so it should be easy to get him to sleep,” she assured me before running down a laundry list of to-dos before rushing out the door.

At 9 months of age, Finn gave me a look that read something like, “Good luck, Buster.”

Upon arriving in Hansville, he was sleeping. Might be easier than I thought, I mused.

Leaving him in the carseat, I rushed out to get some wood and stoke the fire. He greeted me with wide eyes and yawn. Uh-oh.

Feeding him dinner, he had, what many parents know as a blow out. Diaper wipes and off to the tub. A bottle and off to bed.

And off to bed…

That’s when it happened.

Sitting there in the semi-darkness of my son’s room, caressing his head and watching his eyelids get heavy and pop open at the slightest shift in movement, I had a realization.

Children, especially very young ones, teach us to slow down.

Parents of infants, I have found, always seem to be running this way and that, making things more complex, more hectic than necessary. Meanwhile, a child’s needs are basic. Feed me. Clothe me. Keep me warm and safe. Cleanse me. Love me.

As adults, we forget what it was like to have such peace.

We forget that we once relied on others for these needs. Lose track of the simpler things in all the chaos that pushes and pulls us through our daily routines. Time passes and with it the memories of much that made us who we are today.

Ask a friend, “When did you learn to crawl?”

I assure you he or she will be confused. And, in all honesty, I don’t have the answer myself. But think about the question. It’s important because there was a time when even crawling was beyond your means.

We walk. We feed ourselves. We talk. Drive cars. Operate computers. Solve quadratic equations. But we all, even parents, forget what got us there. Where it all started. Parents and their children share a common bond but the ground on which they stand is all to often uncommon.

Slow down, my son’s eyes said.

And so I did just that, the ground on which they stand is all to often uncommon.

Slow down, my son’s eyes said.

And so I did just that.

I watched my son and, instead of hoping he’d just pass out so I could get things done or kick back elsewhere, decided that maybe he was onto something. Laying on my chest, falling asleep slowly. The relaxation of it all struck a chord.

He wasn’t worried about anything and so, at least during such moments, why should I? I asked.

Things began to melt away. Worries. Bills. Work. Commute. Holidays. Families. They all just drifted away, like an oarless boat on a calm, open sea.

It was just him and me.

He slept and I kissed his forehead, wondering what he was thinking about and feeling the type of serenity that can only be found in such special, sacred moments.