Wednesday, January 18, 2006
A Father's Thoughts - by Jennifer Hyman
You're so small. So little in my arms. You're no longer new; you have been here for sometime, now. You're little arms moving, trying to grab at anything and everything in their path.
I remember when you were born. I wished to comfort your mother, but I could not. The ones who were helping her would not let me see her, to be there for her. I heard her invoke Eileithyia, goddess of childbirth, for bringing this pain upon her. I was nervous, I knew women could die in childbirth, and I did not want to lose her, and then have the risk of losing you as well.
Once done, your mother was tired, they let me see you both. I held you, my son, for the first time. The name we had thought of come to my lips. Little Astyanax you are, when you grow it will just be Astyanax. So tiny, new to the world and a new feeling came over me.
Before you were born, my allegiance was just to my country, Troy. To my family, yes, always, but Troy had always come first. I married your mother, and loved her, I still do love her. Then you came, and the first time I held you, for the first time in my life, my family, you and your mother, had my allegiance first.
My allegiance, to my family and my country. To you and your mother. I would die for you both. To protect you, to be sure you had a good life. For you both to live, I would die.
The next day, after you were born, you were presented to your country. In your mother's arms, you were seen by your country. They announced you as Astyanax, son of Prince Hector and Princess Andromache. The people cheered, knowing the gods had blessed us with you. I felt it as a greater blessing, that the gods had given me a family. A family of my own, you and your mother. With you in my arms, it made it all the better.
You start to fuss, wanting food or some other thing. I have yet to know which of your cries means what. I hand you back to your mother, putting my arm around her. She knows your cries, know what hidden meaning they have. She moves away and picks up a wooden horse I made for you. Your tiny fingers curve around it, never wanting to let go. You shake it in your hand for a little, and then it goes into your mouth. So innocent you look, how much I feel the need to protect you and keep you safe.
You know not the perils of the world yet; know not why I must go to Sparta. Why we are to negotiate peace. But I do it for you, for your mother, for Troy. So that days of peace will follow. So that, even though you will train for it, you will never have to go to war, never die in it. Though it maybe valiant, I wish not to see it happen, or even think that it would.
Your mother is called away for a little; she places you back in my arms. You fuss for a little, being away from your mother does not please you. Nor does it please myself. You then recognize me; the horse is back in your hands. You raise it, as if to offer it, or to show that you own it. Your little mind does not know what you are really doing; all it tells you is to do it.
I take you to the window, from which you can see, the archers practicing. Like Apollo, who protects us, they use the bow. Yet all pray not to be struck down by his arrows. They pray that their women are not struck by his sister's, Artemis, arrows. I pray that you are not struck, so early in your life, that Andromache is not struck, that the hounds of war, that are so common now, are not unleashed upon the city.
To know you will learn all this is a frightening thought. To know that your will still know of war, of all this. I protect my family and my county. You will learn the same thing. I feel the need to tell you this, even though you are still a babe in arms, still holding tight to that horse.
"Astyanax, you will, one day, be in my position. You will be with your son, telling him of what you wish for him. For you, my son, I wish you not to know the turmoil of this time. For you to still be brave, and have a warriors heart, just not hardened by war. To never have to prove it in battle. I wish for you to live by the code that I do: honor the Gods, love your woman, and fight for your country."
"That is a good code to live by, Hector." Your mother says, breaking my thoughts. She came in with out alerting me, a great feet for some one to do. She looks at you in my arms, and smiles. "You are a good father, and I think you have lulled him to sleep."
I look down and see you sleeping in my arms. Your little horse has been rested on my chest, fallen out of your hand. Off into dreams you go, to still know not of what is happening. You are still so young and I wish to see you grow.
I wish to see you training, to see whom Eros deems fit for you to love. For you to join me in council, to be the great Prince you were born to be. But for now, sleep. Sleep and wait to know of what the gods have in store for you. I must go. Sleep well, my son, and stay safe until I return.
submitted at 11:27 PM
Welcome to the Writer's Blackboard!.
The latest online short story magazine!
Submissions are ALWAYS being accepted.
Poetry - 1000 word limit
Short stories - 4000 words
email: blackboardritinguild@yahoo.com today!
NO FAN FICTION PLEASE
Choose a story under titles THEN click READ