Who’s got your back?
December 17, 2015 § 31 Comments
One of the happiest days in my life was yesterday, when I went to court with my daughter. It was something of an impossible case with little hope of success. She had briefed the motion, and when the court saw it her way it was an amazing thing.
It used to be common for kids to grow up and then work side by side with their parents in the family business. But now there are so many other opportunities out there for talented kids, and the constraints of working for or with a parent make those other opportunities even more alluring.
When I try to put my finger on it, a lot of things come to mind. The happiness at seeing a child hoe a tough row and get her law license in the country’s toughest jurisdiction is part of it. The happiness at having her decide that working with Dad is better than working for The Man is another part of it. The ease of communication and absence of all pretense is another part, as is the thing that has been part of humanity since we were humanity: Passing on knowledge to a child so that she can survive, and thrive.
But there’s something else. It’s profoundly the feeling that someone has your back, not because they’re paid but because they’re your flesh and blood. That when the chips are down you’ll never have to ask for help or wonder whether you’ll fall, unaided. The knowledge that no one will ever fight for you with the intensity and utter devotion of a child.
As all those things were occurring to me, I thought about my friend Marvin, who was hit in a catastrophic collision while riding on Tuesday. Marvin’s son Price is a college freshman and was home on winter break. The way this young man has been there for his father is beyond any words. At his bedside constantly, managing the stress of well-meaning friends and their constant inquiries, being his mom’s right- and left-hand man, always smiling, never letting the seriousness of the situation get him down: This is the child who is a man, the staff that his parents can lean on in their unspeakable time of need.
It’s an amazing and humbling and beautiful thing to see. It transcends the troubles of the day, affirms our faith in people, puts us to bed at night so that we can sleep, soundly.
END
Cycling in the South Bay 
Amen.
I second that amen as long as it’s to dog.
To your words, sir.
I’m struck by the possibilities of a female-male team united in purpose.
But seriously, now: the “bedridden” thing, I think that’s been used already, and, of course, the wheelchair prop is gone, too. I don’t recall a “stationary trainer” show but hey, maybe it would fly!
(tough crowd, tough crowd!)
There’s incredible magic and pride in seeing your offspring (and their friends) grow up to become amazing human beings. Often I’m so filled with pride and gratitude and happiness that I can scarcely breathe. It’s the ultimate reward of parenthood.
And dumb luck. Lots of dumb luck along the way.
Terrific words and thoughts, Seth. Even better deeds from two young people and that makes me smile. I’m frequently humbled by the actions of my offspring and more than a little proud, especially if I hear my words come out of their mouths.
Well said!
Thanks, Brian!
Beautiful 💙
Thanks!
Amen to Dusty’s amen.
In dog we trust, brother.
Chills…good chills…i love you Seth, i do.
Love you, brother.
When your writing is funny I laugh out loud. When it’s heartfelt like this I almost cry. So good.
Thank you, Paul–
Fucking hell, brother. It makes me red with fury that you don’t have a Pulitzer Prize already.
Really wonderful stuff you write. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Cesar! Let’s ride down to Pulitzer HQ and take one of those bastards!
Congratulations proud Papa. And congratulations to Cassady Davidson on a job well done.
Thanks, Tamar. So happy!
Has there ever been a better short story, a better written post, a better choice for heroes? Nope.
*Blushes*
Yeah, but does she pay you $2.99 every month?
I pay her …
Thanks. I never knew my Dad, so you and her are doubly lucky to have each other. As the cliche says, people take for granted what is there.
Yep … unfortunately.
Lost for words, the only one I can think of is beautiful, thank you.
Thanks!
Proud Papa & if she doesn’t ride bikes she will be a real asset to the Law offices of Seth Davidson:)
I’ve kept her away from the bike, thank dog.
I shared your blog with my dad, who I’ve tried a bunch of cases with. His response: “Amen, buddy. That’s how I feel about you.” Some kids bond with their dads over fishing or hunting. For me, and now your daughter, doing a trial together works too. Glad I found out about your blog through Tilford’s blog. Don’t stop writing; you’re making a meaningful impact on this wild, fun, sad world.
Wow. Thank you!