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I have 4 children. They are older now. In their teens and 20's. I think back to each of their births and remember them as all children must be remembered by a parent. Innocent, fresh, wide-eyed and curious. It is a journey. From the earliest startling discovery, an infants eyes open wide its body shutters and his mouth draws open as the applesauce moves around his mouth (as if to say, "whoa, what was that) to the quiet painful resignation that some times...life just hurts.



But its the in between I'm drawn to. The first step, the first word.... (both a parents delight), the exuberance of the first bike and riding all by themselves, the first trip to the zoo, the first day at school. I remember when my oldest, now almost 25, came home from school. His mother and I were divorced (an unfortunate part of his reality). I picked him up from the babysitters. He was chattering on about school, his friends, his bike....his life. Sitting in the front seat of the car, his back against the door, he was speedily recounting the day. I was taken with the simplicity of his life yet the pure joy he felt in sharing it. He didn't want me to simply know what had happened. He wanted me to FEEL it. And I could. I believe he relished his position as the older brother but even today would never admit it. I miss him...I really do. He is a very special child and when he finds himself, will do great things.

His 2 younger brothers, one a care-taker whose job it had been to make sure everyone had a pillow and blanket at nap time before he could get one himself, the other a perfectionist who climbed into bed by sitting on his pillow and scooching down because the lines on his blanket had to be straight, were not much different. They recounted their day in much the same way, discovering much the same things. There was A difference. While I was regaled with the news of the day, I was not the intended audience. It was okay for me to hear and it was expected that I listen, but their older brother was the real object of their exuberance. They could not wait to tell him about their first time riding a bike, just like him. They had been there for his first soccer game and now they wanted him to know about theirs. One thing did remain the same. It didn't matter who was the audience, you couldn't just know the facts, you had to resonate in their joy. I can not imagine life without them. The world will be a better place because they are it.

And then a daughter. A frightful proposition for a dad. Uncharted water. Shes a funny girl. A bright and sunny disposition always cheerful always on about something. A talker...and an expressive one at that. She had her firsts too and once again I was the intended audience. I vividly remember her first day at school. She had been there when I took the boys to their first day and tried to help soothe the separation anxiety and wipe the tears from their faces and, unbeknown st to me, she had learned the routine. She was excited to just get dressed for school. As she walked in to class she was introduced to the teacher who showed her what to do with her things. From that moment, the teacher had competition. It was a race to the door to see who would greet the children first, show them where to put their stuff and then tour them around the room. The teacher says they came to an understanding. It was teachers job to greet the children, my daughter could show them where to put their stuff and walk them around the room. As I left it was I who was feeling the separation anxiety and even a wink from the teacher who quietly mouthed the words, "she'll be okay" couldn't wipe away my tears. When she got home she had a full sail of new life events to tell me about. We were long past painting my fingernails and toenails or every size, color or shape of hair clips used as she was "doing my hair". Her daily tails were different. The were about events, yes.. but more about the people around those events and for me that was very hard to keep up with. I know this for sure....There is more color in the world with her in it and one day the world will take notice.

As I reflect on their past I naturally must reflect on my own. It saddens me a bit. Its not that I don't remember the exuberance, I do. I miss it. I'm not sure when it happened... but somewhere along the way the reigns of pure joy and excitement slipped from my hands and I had picked the club of responsibility. I no longer relished the fun of rolling around a mud puddle, I was to busy trying not to have to clean it up. I was no longer a seven year old boy, clothes thrown aside, climbing a tree as a member of the Bare Naked Club. I was too busy figuring the deductible owed on my health insurance policy just in case someone got hurt or searching for that very tree I climbed to picket it as a site of unspeakable unmentionables.
Boys climbing a tree naked indeed!!!

When did it happen? When did we stop trying to swing as high as we could and then jump when we got there? I long to think about what could be and not dwell on why they weren't. I have sadly lost the joy of living and replaced it with the pain and, worse than that, I risk doing the same to my kids. I don't want to do that. Its time I started pay attention to the little things and ignoring the big ones. After all isn't that where God resides??

Starting today, I will take the advice of that esteemed psuedopsychologist, Sidney Freeman who said:
"Sometimes you gotta pull down your pants and slide on the ice"

These are, after all, the musings of a mind that wanders.