OUBLE TAP TO ZOOM WITH PHONE OR TABLET 1 How What We Feel Creates What We Know Somebody’s got to be crazy about that kid. That’s number one. First, last, and always. URIE BRONFENBRENNER D I open the door, a shrill cry greeting my ears. She’s at it again. It happens this way most days lately. My wife likes to call it the “just that time of day” screaming fest. I’m told it’s normal for babies to do this, but our ears could use a break from the sure to be future soprano in our midst. “She’s at it again, I see,” I comment to my wife, who has our three-month-old daughter in her arms. “Yes, and now I think it’s your turn,” she says, smiling, clearly relieved I’ve returned. I always did have perfect timing. I take my daughter from her mother and head to the living room, sit on the red couch, and lean back to let her lie on my outstretched legs. She still screams, but I remain calm, holding her squirming body. I know she needs this daily afternoon cry, her wails seemingly a tes- tament to the cruel reality of having little to no control over the rolling waves of emotions that overtake her for no rhyme or reason. But I sense she’ll soon reach the dreaded point of no return. So I look down into her face, my voice gentle, rhythmic, and calm: “Peace.” She stops crying abruptly, her teary eyes searching for my own. She seems surprised, almost perplexed; perplexed that she is crying, and perplexed that I am here, patiently looking down on her. I don’t know if it’s the rhythm of my voice, or just my refusal to let her screams disrupt my inner calm, but somehow it’s like she understands. It’s as if she senses my calm and latches on to it like a life preserver in the waves of tumultuous emotions that rock her tiny body. She understands that she is safe. No matter the intensity of her screams, I am there. 7 COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL