Probably, not many parents enjoy waking up at 1 a.m. to deal with croup. There may be mucus and upchuck to deal with. There are tears to wipe away. Generally the parent is working for an hour to get the child’s breathing back to normal, and so his beauty sleep is in arrears.

Well, last night I got to help B out with a little croup, but I have to admit that I didn’t mind the work. I sure felt sorry for the boy, but it was a special time. It is not often that one can be awake with his son — who is nearly five years old — at 1 a.m., hold him, speak gently to him to calm his spirit, tell him that his dad had the same croup when he was five. It is not often that on can wrap a blanket around him and stand out of doors under a moonless December sky in 30 degree air that is absolutely still and explain why he can see the lights of Omro, Oshkosh, and Winneconne reflected from the clouds, and then hold his son on his lap and rock him to sleep and lay him back down, knowing that he is going to be alright until morning. No, that is tolerably rare.