Rock

February 25th. 2025

Our little grandson, Asher, wanted me to hold him. I bent over and held out my hands. He let me grab him and pull him up. Asher wrapped his arms around my shoulders and smiled.

My wife, Karin, was sitting on the couch. She smiled too and said,

“Grandpa is always Asher’s favorite.”

There seemed to be just a touch of envy in her voice. I had never noticed that I was Asher’s favorite. My impression was that Asher gave his affection equally to whomever was willing to satisfy his needs or wants.

I asked Karin, “Why am I his favorite?”

She said matter-of-factly, “Because you’re his rock.”

“I’m what?”

“You’re his rock. That’s what people say about you.”

Apparently, I am oblivious to what people say about me, because I found it surprising to hear that. Since that brief conversation a few days ago, I have been pondering what it means to be Asher’s rock.

There is an old song by Paul Simon titled, ‘I am a Rock”. The lyrics of the song describe a person who has withdrawn from society and has made himself impervious to emotional suffering. The last verses of the song say,”

“And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries.”

I don’t think that is kind of rock my wife meant. However, I have in fact been that kind of person. The song was a touchstone for me in my teenage years, and following the suggestion of Pink Floyd, I spent many years “comfortably numb”. Some rocks don’t feel. Karin wasn’t referring to that sort of rock.

I believe that my wife and others think that Asher trusts me. They see that I supply Asher with security. I am there for him, and he knows that.

Many years ago, I volunteered with a program that tried to help families with troubled teenagers. During each cycle of the program, we spent one entire session discussing the topic of trust. In other sessions we tried to teach communication skills and other ways for family members to work out their problems. However, none of those things mattered unless the people in the family trusted each other. Trust was absolutely crucial, and it was often completely absent. Parents might not trust their teenager because the son or daughter is an addict. A son might not trust the father who had abandoned him. A daughter might not trust a mother who is manipulative. A husband or wife might not trust the partner that betrayed them. Without trust there is no way forward.

We used to do a group exercise called the Trust Wheel. Each person would draw a picture of a wheel with themselves as the hub of the wheel and the spokes representing the individuals who they trusted. We would discuss each drawing, and the artist would explain why they trusted certain people and how much they trusted them. Some wheels had very few spokes.

I know from experience that I can love a person deeply and not trust them any further than I can throw a refrigerator. Love and trust are not the same things. Love can be enduring regardless of a person’s actions. Trust is a terribly fragile relationship that requires constant maintenance. Trust has to be nurtured with thousands of small acts of honesty and dependability. However, trust can be destroyed in a moment. All that is required is a single act of betrayal. Ask anybody whose partner has cheated on them. It is nearly impossible for that trust to be rebuilt.

Asher trusts me. He knows that I will be there when he goes to sleep, and I will be there when he awakes. He knows that I will keep him safe. The two of us fight at times, but he knows that I won’t turn my back on him. This is vitally important for a four-year-old, and probably for anybody else. He needs a rock in his life, and for now I am it.