There’s a Lot of Power in that Little Hand

I often see proud parents and grandparents letting the social media world know about the accomplishments of their children and grandchildren. The spring is a time for graduations, from elementary school to college. Many experience the end of an era, with the trepidation of taking life’s next step.

It is not limited to springtime, though, as children of all ages appear to do brilliant, magical things year-round.

Unabashed bragging takes place, as the feeling that their loved one is the first to spectacularly (fill in the blank) or the last to wonderfully (fill in the blank). In their eyes, no one did it better than them. Or ever will.

Among all the great achievements displayed, I feel compelled to make a bold, potentially viral statement about my granddaughter Izzy. It will be truthfulish, though lacking in verified fact.

I, Mike Bertok (otherwise known as Papa to Izzy) declares that Isabelle Bertok is the strongest two-and-a-half-year-old girl in the world.

There you go. I said it. Have at it, fact-checkers.

A skeptical reader, or qualified journalist might observe, “Yes, the girl is cute. But how can you prove said statement, proud Papa Bertok?”

I would astutely reply, “With real life evidence and witnesses, of course. Duh.”

Let me build my case.

May 20, 2022, 5:28 pm: My niece, Jenna, is getting married the next day and Izzy is her flower girl. At the rehearsal dinner, Izzy is running and playing with her cousin Bentley, the ring bearer. She approaches her dad, a two hundred plus pound former college football player and grabs his hand. He is unable to stop her, easily dragged away from the group.

May 20, 2022, 6:03 pm: Izzy gets down from her dad’s lap during dinner and sets her sights on me. In the spirit of a young Arnold Schwarzenegger, she rips me from a chair. Leading me to an unknown destination, she deftly weaves through a crowd of adults, zigging and zagging like a determined tugboat.

We stopped at the end of the buffet table, where two trays of chocolate chip cookies rested peacefully.

She released my finger from her anaconda-like clench and looked up at me with her big baby blue eyes, rendering me completely helpless. “I have a cookie, Papa?”

“Sure honey, but just one.”

Who was I kidding? If she asked for ten, I would have agreed.

“I have five hundred bucks, Papa?”

“Okay.”

“And a bike?”

“Yes.”

“A pony?”

“Yep.”

“Can you just make it a thousand dollars cash instead? A Corvette would be cool, too.”

“Uhm, yeah, why not. Just don’t tell Yammie.”

She got her cookie. Then we went back for another. Then, one more after that but we shared it. Then she wanted to run on the deck outside.

Each time I got up, it was her two and a half foot, 34-pound physique that lifted me from a chair with one hand. Amazingly, she is free of any human growth hormones or steroids and will gladly submit to random drug testing to prove she’s all natural.

Let’s see your three sports, student body president, summa cum laude graduate with a master’s degree in astrophysics do that!

My son, Nick, observed these unnatural displays of might and commented, “there’s a lot of power in that little hand.”

Indeed, Nick.

Her intent right now may be for short-term gratification, like a cookie, but what it really says is “I trust you.” That trust is a precious, critical element for an innocent, vulnerable child. Violate that trust and it is a shamefully difficult, sometimes impossible bond to rebuild.

Nurture it properly and it blossoms like a rose garden, so that others can be trusted. There is a lot of power in that big hand, too.

Most parents cherish the times when their kids needed to hold their hands. Whether it was to safely cross a street or to simply go for a walk; to get up or down stairs; or to jump when mom has one hand and dad has the other.

There are not too many occasions to hold hands as adults. My wife and I still do, but any of my three boys and I would find it exceedingly awkward to do so. But there was a time when it was okay. We are happy that they are grown men, but I do miss those days.

So, when little Izzy grabs my index finger and wants to do something or go somewhere, this papa gladly springs up and follows.

If that’s not power, I don’t know what is.