"This morning is awesome", I heard him say. That was my oldest, the 12 year old
nephew. I didn’t quite make it to the
hospital before he was born, but I was there within hours, and the little brat
has held my heart ever since.
He was talking to his little brother. And we were on a
gravel road, “raising hell and praising God.”
Those were the lyrics to the song he decided to play on his iPhone in
honor of our morning.
The morning couldn’t have been any better if I had planned
it, and I never could have planned it.
It was like the perfect storm.
All the choices of free will led up to that morning.
I had spent the weekend in my hometown visiting friends and
relatives. MyFella and I seldom take a
weekend off from each other, since weekends are all we get. But we had taken this one because there was a
big festival in town that I enjoy going to, and it allows me an opportunity to
see tons of old friends home for the festival.
I invested time with Mamaw, time with my parents, and time
with my boys. And on Sunday morning, both Granny and Grandpaw said they were
not going to church. So Uncle said to
the boys, “Let me get dressed and we’ll go for a ride, just us boys.”
I thought we’d go downtown and see what was still cleaning
up from the 3 day festival and then top the levee to the river park’s boat
landing and walk way. But within minutes
one of the boys had suggested we go look for the house Granny had showed him
once. The house they brought me home to
well over 40 years ago. It stood for a
long time in a park on the North side of my home town, but it’s gone now. But this crisp Autumn morning in October, the
park was empty and the grass was green.
Swings called to the boys who weren’t quite dressed warm enough, but I
couldn’t tell them no. I couldn’t tell
me no.
The swings are standard park fair, heavy chains attached to
slats of thick rubber. The little one
wanted a push to get started, and I pushed him high in the air. I found that while I could still get myself
pretty high, I’ve lost the drive to launch myself from the apex and land like
Spider Man.
The Merry Go Round captured the boys eyes next. The spinning round and round sight of them
pushed gently at the edge of memories of myself going around and around. I didn’t ask the boys to try and push my
weight. It seemed unfair. The gravel area surrounding it absorbed like a sponge
rainwater from the night before, making puddles where I stood. And the rain water drew the attention of the
little one who wanted to lay down in the gravel and slide under the playground
equipment. We’re definitely not dressed
for such as that.
A little bridge and a dirty drainage ditch seemed like the
greatest of adventures to their young minds. I must have sounded a hundred
years old yelling, “Don’t touch that!” It did me no good anyway, their hands
quick to grab whatever was in the grass.
I proved to myself I could still swing high, but I lost my
nerve to jump out at the apex. Monkey
bars and swings and such, made of real iron.
I kept my eye on them, my hands outstretched, to avoid a later call to
their father about broken arms. We
survived the morning with all bones intact.
And happy memories made within a few feet of the once-home
to which my parents brought me after I was born.
No comments:
Post a Comment