Papa Bear

When I was growing up, I read hundreds of fairy tales and story books, and one of my most favorite books was about a family of bears. It was a story book, with the bears living in a cute little house in the woods, and the Mama bear wore dresses and a necklace, and Papa bear wore a sweater jacket that was green, and Little bear would bring Papa bear his slippers and pipe after dinner. Little bear would sit in the lawn, blowing bubbles, while Mama bear would hang the fresh laundry on the line. That image of simple happiness and contentment, somehow made a deep impression on me. I would get out my sketch book, and draw the bear family, and seeing them come to life again, with my simple pencil, on white paper, was very satisfying. At the time, I was no longer a small child, I was twelve. But for reasons I will perhaps never completely understand or unveil, that story book and its drawings gave me great comfort. I wanted a family like that, simple, content, loving, and above all, happy. When, many years later, when I was in graduate school in Texas, in Austin,  I met the man who would become my husband, I was twenty seven, Michael was thirty five, and within six months of us having started to date, my favorite nickname for him became Papa bear. Somehow, it was not awkward or weird, Freudian or silly, it just felt right. It still does. We have been married twenty six years this coming July, our son will be twenty, and every day still, I find myself saying: "OK, Papa bear, dinner is ready!" It just feels good, safe. Maybe because I lost my entire family to lies and intrigue, tragic death and illness, having a Papa bear around just is so soothing , so safe, makes me feel secure and happy as a child whose trust has not been violated. My parents had a marriage that became more bitter and emotionally violent as the years went on and it turned our world upside down, until it became an all too real reenactment of Strindberg's Dance of Death. To this day, when I think about their horrible marriage, I have to fight nausea. To be married to a man who in all his masculinity and good looks and intelligence reminds me in tender moments of the Papa bear in my story book, has been absolutely wonderful in its healing aspect. Michael knows my need for innocence and has tolerated this childlike need for an emotional refuge with great respect and humor. Our son is familiar with the story behind the naming of his dad as Papa bear and seems to enjoy the old fashioned tenderness of it. That is not to say that Papa bear does not frustrate or hurt  or exasperates me at times, or just makes me plain angry, but the tenderness, in the end, the generosity of spirit, always wins me over, and safely brings me home to the small house in the woods, where it is always cozy, and love is alive and well.