Papa

"Papa" she says.

I am pretty sure she has a good vocabulary for her age, but it is hard to know for certain, since I do not have others similarly situated to stand next to her and chat for comparison. And also because most words are incomplete and it takes the wisdom of a parent to interpret these sounds.

But "papa" has a clarity to it that is like no other word I have ever heard. And with those two small syllables everything else disappears.

"Papa" she says and it is impossible for me to do everything I would wish for her.

"Papa" she says and she knows she is fiercely protected.

"Papa" she says and she knows she is deeply loved.

"Papa" she says and she knows that not a day will go by when I will not be there by her side.

"Papa" she says and she knows that I will pick her up as long as there is strength in my body and capacity in my mind.

"Papa" she says and I imagine all the greatness that resides within her.

"Papa" she says and I can't imagine a life without her.

"Papa" she says and I promise all the promises I have.

"Papa" she says and I think, I know, that no other four letters have ever been so important.

"Papa" she says and suddenly there are no other words in the world.

And to all the other "papas", you know exactly what I mean. For you have experienced that jolt of electricity, that surge of passion, that love emanating from the deepest part of your soul that you didn't fully recognize still resided within you. You have been forever altered by one word from one little human being still trying to figure out what it is all about.

For me, whatever other vocabulary follows in the days and years to come from this grandchild of mine, it can never match the sound that has now emerged.

"Papa" she says.

"Papa."