Reverie

I was still learning to walk when I had to leave my mother's lap for my little brother.   I looked up pitifully at my father. “Walk,” he said. “No!” I stubbornly replied. “You carry me. My legs are hurting. Why is brother in Amma's arms? I need a hug, too!”   I cried, threw fits, I raged in little meltdowns. But through every protest, every plea, my father's voice would interrupt. “You are the elder one. You must take care of the family. You must grow up tough.”   Say that to a child of one and a half! Amma could not voice her protest; she had my brother to hold.   So, holding on to my father's index finger, I began to walk – my first little steps towards responsibility. The stretches we had to walk seemed endless to my aching little feet. But at each stumbling stride, I heard his voice beside me, to guide.   I was afraid of the dark, but my father led me through its blinding depths wh...