JEFF'S LIFE
 by Jeff Stimpson

Where He's Going

He wobbles like a cute drunk, his legs sliding into a V. He makes his way hand over hand, lift of the leg by lift of the leg, around about a third of the perimeter of the crib. He bows his back and looks up. Sometimes the knees buckle. Then he goes plop. -- from "Standing Ovation," January, 2000

Ned has begun to stand. I was supposed to note the moment his legs went straight under him, mostly since I missed that moment with Alex, but I missed it with Ned, too. Just one day the little fingers gripped the side of the coffee table helplessly, and the next day they hauled Ned upright. One day he had me by the ankles, the next his hand was landing like a little sponge on top of my knee. Suddenly Alex found that the top of the coffee table offered no sanctuary for his toy school bus.

Ned still crawls with one leg tucked under him, pushing himself with the other leg and dragging himself along by the forearms. "Looks like a crab," says Aunt Julie. That spare leg curled under him gives him leverage to get his hands and arms just that much higher when he at last arrives at somewhere he can pull himself up. It's almost as if he's organized. He used to just sit hypnotized in front of Elmo videos; now he stand hypnotized.

Now Ned can also allllllmost stand while I peel off his diaper before the bath. Then I put him in the tub, where the splashies inspire him to grab the edge of the tub and haul himself upright (I demand to see someone in authority!). Then he stares me in the face and lets go, letting his rump make a kitten-sized cannonball in the water. Lately, at bedtime, I turn from Alex to discover Ned peering over the edge of his crib, fingers tight on the railing, legs stiff. Not long ago, his eyes didn't clear the railing.

"Where you goin', Ned?"

We're coming up on one of those fun times to be a dad. Walking is one of the first things you can truly teach a kid. So sometimes I take Ned gently under the arms, or by the hands, and coax him into placing one little foot in front of the other. Feet that aren't as little as they used to be. (I came home the other afternoon, and he was wearing shoes!)

"No walking!" Jill commands. "No walking!" She just means that Ned is her last, at least before Ned and Alex have kids of their own, and she isn't ready to see the last one walk away. But even she looks forward to this stage, and mentions it every time on the street when she spots a new walker among the ranks of Manhattan's kids.

"It will be funny," Jill admits. "Ned will place one foot slowly in front of the other. He'll keep looking down at his shoes."

He'll take my hand on the street, too, until those steps come easier. And long after. Though I guess one day Ned will take his hand away.

I guess too that one reason I've been hesitant about Ned walking -- "Why can't you crawl there, Ned?" "Dad, it's my high school graduation!" -- is because I was scared he'd already be taller than Alex. That fear was dispelled the other day, however, one stolen moment in front of an Elmo video when I glanced in the direction of the TV and found the boys standing together. Ned often stands in front of the TV, unblinking, his nose about two inches from the screen.) Alex remained a head taller. Speaking of heads, Alex reached over and stroked Ned's high-off-the-ground hair. No toy school bus was anywhere near, and it was a gentle moment.

Once they start walking they usually don't sit down again. Maybe on Sunday afternoon for a little of the game, or a cup of coffee, but not for long.

I should just turn around to see those thick knees stiffen and see the world at last where it belongs. Under my son's feet.

That was then; that was Alex. This is now, and now it's Ned heaving on the crib bars, demanding to see the warden. I guess that's still me, for now.

©2001 Jeff Stimpson

MENSIGHT CORPORATE SPONSORS Syndicated careers columnist Dr. Marty Nemko offers open public access to his archive of career advise: How Do I Become a Corporate Sponsor? Jeff Stimpson, 39, has been a working journalist for 15 years. He lives in New York with his wife Jill and sons Alex, 3, and Edwin, four months. He maintains a site of essays, Jeff's Life, at http://www .jeffslife.com