Happy

On Friday evening Roan told me he was happy. We were in the car with Grandma and Grandpa Mac driving home from the beach. The sun was low in the sky and the backseat where I sat with Roan was full of the kind of soft yellow light you see in old photographs. Roan was in a sweatshirt and diaper, eating cheerios out of a cup with sand coated fingers. There was sand on his face, sand in his hair, and sand in the folds of his neck. His feet and shins were coated with sticky sand that was just starting to dry and get crusty.

Halfway through his cup of Cheerios and sand, Roan turned to me and put his filthy hand on my arm, looked me right in the eyes and said, "happy" as clear as a bell. For the first time. In the warm light he seemed to be glowing. Palm trees passed outside the window, and the sky was clear enough to see the mountains outlined in the distance. We looked only at each other for a moment. Then he said, "mama?" And I told him I was happy too. He pointed at my dad and said, "pa?" his word for Grandpa, and then pointed at my mom. Once everyone's happiness was confirmed, he went back to his Cheerios.

Roan asks for food when he's hungry, a drink when he's thirsty, books when he wants a story, and his bike when he wants to ride it. He reports on whether his food is hot or cold. He's never verbally expressed an abstract concept, like happiness. I've heard him say, "hap, hap, hap," when we're out in the backyard and he's reorganizing the patio furniture, or watering the plants, and I've wondered if he's telling me he's happy, but there's no way to know for sure. Here is what we know for sure: happiness to Roan is sandy skin from a day at the beach, Cheerios in a snack trap, a warm car full of people who love him, and not wearing any pants.

Usually when Roan says a new word I go out of my way to reinforce it, so he'll be sure to remember it and use it again. But not this time. Along with good health, happiness is what every parent most wants for their child. I don't want "happy" to be one of those words that he says just to please. I hope, like that sunlit afternoon in the car, that he only says it when he means it.