Scott was a wonderful dad, and he and Clark brought each other enormous joy. Scott always had this over-the-top enthusiasm for fathering, an abundance of confidence in Clark's abilities, eternal patience with him somehow without crossing the line into overindulgence.
He loved teaching Clark new things, loved watching him develop new skills. Last fall I pointed to a jet flying overhead and said pointed out the "smoke" to Clark. "No, contrail" Clark corrected me. Scott had taught him the word "contrail" at age two.
Here's the poem Scott read at Clark's welcoming ceremony: "My Son," by Barbara Shooltz Kendzierski
You did not come to me as the moon, reflectiveThe scaffolding fell away too soon. The mirror is foggy.
of me, or to orbit my life but as a star, radiant
with light and warmth and path of your own.
I will try always to remember.
I want neither to hold you captive to my dreams
nor to pressure you to color between lines I have drawn.
I hope never to distort your questions
to fit my answers; but sometimes
I will forget.
May the limits I set serve you
like the scaffold serves the skyscraper in its ascent,
then falls away when the time comes to let go.
May my words teach you to listen
and my listening teach you to speak
so in quiet it is your own voice you find.
May I be a mirror so you see yourself clearly
as child of a loving God who delights in your being.
I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that Clark will never know the extent of his loss.
Here's the poem that I read at Clark's welcoming, by Rumi.
Look at Love...
how it tangles with the one fallen in love
look at spirit
how it fuses with earth giving it new life
why are you so busy
with this or that or good or bad
pay attention to how things blend
why talk about all
the known and the unknown
see how the unknown merges into the known
why think separately
of this life and the next
when one is born from the last