Learning about the Fragility of Life

Lately, I’ve been vividly reminded of the fragility of life—it’s one of those things that come with the territory of raising an infant, no doubt. Every little thing has the potential to be a near-death experience: we forget to strap him in properly in his car seat before taking a trip (“I thought you strapped him in!”); he starts choking on his own spit; he grabs something that he shouldn’t have and tries to put it in his mouth; he falls asleep in his car seat and drops his head toward his neck, making it difficult to breath.

More particularly, he has now become a “rolly polly,” taking every opportunity to roll and move, which means we have to be very mindful where we set him down so he doesn’t fall off couch or whack his head on something. He’s even figured out how to roll and wiggle out of his car seat, which makes us fear he’s going to flip it over sometime. In fact, he’s so in to rolling over, that now frequently rolls from his back to his stomach in his sleep (he obviously prefers to sleep on his side or stomach!). It seems that most people say one need not worry about an infant suffocating when he gets to this stage, since if he’s able to roll over in his sleep he is cognizant enough to do something if he gets in danger. But frankly, it still freaks me out.

Then there was this morning. Amber and I have gotten in the habit of giving a piece of melon rind after we cut up a melon or cantaloupe, so he can simultaneously use it kind of like a teething ring and get a taste of something new, of course being careful to keep an eye on him in case he happens to completely gnaw a piece off. So, I was out to breakfast with some friends and handed him a leftover piece of watermelon rind. Obviously, there was too much watermelon still left on the rind, as he managed to bite off a number of pieces and couldn’t handle it. I turned to see my son with his head cocked back, eyes red and watering, trying to squeal, but with his mouth wide open and throat clogged with watermelon and slobber.

Dad goes into hyper drive. I jumped up, stuck my finger down his throat and pulled out three little chunks of watermelon, wrangled him out of his car seat and turned him upside down. Five seconds later everything was back to normal and he was acting like nothing happened. But in those few moments of panic, a number of thoughts raced through my mind: He’s choking! Why is it taking so long to get him out of his carseat? Why haven’t I learned the baby Heimlich? Did I get all the watermelon out? How will I know when he’s breathing regularly? How many of these people in the café staring at me now think I’m a bad parent?

After getting over the emotional roller coaster, the events of the morning got me thinking about motivation (sorry, nearly everything turns into a philosophical conversation for me). First, what was my motivation for my quick action?

Was it out of deep love for my child? I certainly deeply love my child, but I’m inclined to believe I would have responded to any choking child (although, due to the intimate bond between father and child, my response time may have been slower in a different situation).

Was it out of a deep sense of my primordial, infinite responsibility to relieve the suffering of the other (that’s Levinas talking)? Perhaps, but that wasn’t my immediate perception.

Was it out of shame for what people would think of my parenting capabilities? That did come to mind, but it wasn’t part of my first inclination.

Was it out of fear—fear of the consequences of my previous action, fear of Emerson choking? For sure—I was struck with sheer panic, to be exact, but the kind of panic that moves one to action rather than cause him to freeze right in his tracks.

Or was it a combination of a number of motivators (probably)? Motivation is a deceptive and enigmatic thing.

But this brings me to a second question: is fear a good and valid motivator? I have heard numerous sermons on this topic taking one side or the other. Take for instance, Kierkegaard’s take which I happened to read earlier this week: “Fear [particularly, fear of punishment] is a deceitful aid. It can embitter one’s pleasure, make life laborious and miserable, make one old and decrepit; but it cannot help one to the Good since fear itself has a false conception of the Good” (Purity of Heart is to Will One Thing).

As I’ve pondered fear as a motivator, I’ve concluded that it simply depends on the situation, on what it is one fears. In this case, my panic was a very good thing, because as a father I ought to have a healthy awareness (which could be understood as a cousin of fear) of what can hurt my child, of when my child is hurting. But then, if I am constantly afraid of my child’s well-being, it could be detrimental to his growth. So there are healthy fears, healthy fears taken to an extreme, unhealthy fears, and even absurd fears. Perhaps, only the first category is a good motivator. But to create categories is one thing; to arrange all the various fears one has into them is another! How does one not constantly be afraid of a child's safety?

There are further thoughts…but they will have to wait for another post.