Puddles

Yesterday, my daughter graduated 8th grade. I, once again, have a teenager heading into high school. Yesterday, my son left elementary school forever. I no longer have a child in elementary school, and I never will again.

Once again, there is change all around. The battle between Winter and Summer seems over, with Summer finally achieving both a moral and final victory. The Sun crests beautifully in the morning sky, and this traveler marvels at the change. It wasn’t just a few days ago that it was cold and rainy as winter grasped helplessly onto anything it could find. Today, the cold, blowing winds seem to be fading to memory as the snows give way to blooming promises of life. My feet splash on the muddy puddles left by the tears of winter as its time passes, and of summer as it embraces its hopeful moment again.

I marvel at my daughter’s smile. I’ve been down this road before with her sister, but all that seems to mean is that I’m better prepared for the tears I will be leaving, both as time passes and life embraces its hopeful moment again. She’s growing to be such a strong, beautiful young woman, full of self-confidence and that fire that was first exposed as she fought for life in her first moments. Her sister may have saved my life, and this one enriched it. I watched that little being fight with a stubbornness that would always define her; a stubbornness that I have grown to both admire and love even when it challenges me to my core.

Her brother is something else. He is a little version of me in nearly every way. He thinks. He entertains. He is sensitive and caring, loving and strong. He has his passions and approaches them with a fervor. Best of all, he is not afraid to tell his Dad how much he loves me. Often.

I watched my youngest girl through my own teary eyes as she was announced and received her certificate. Her smile lit up the room and reduced her Dad to a puddle of thoughts and emotion. Though I hid them well, a tear did slide down my cheek. It seemed to carry with it all of the memories I had of her, 14 years of moments that ran down my skin and left for the ether. Another offering to the great puddle…

I watched my boy as he sat with his friends and did his thing. I had a smile tattooed on my face, and every once in a while he’d look back and smile too. His mom and I have been divorced for quite some time and while I’m not sure we did much right while we were together (that’s a bit of an overstatement, I’ll admit), I do know we did two things perfectly. He teacher had put together a video, and there was my boy being him explaining what he loved about 5th grade, and what he was looking forward to in middle school.

“I love the Eagles,” said one of his friends just moments before it all started. “My mom is from Virginia, so she wants me to root for the Redskins, but I love the Eagles.”

“Well, your secret is safe with me. I know it’s hard to be a Redskins fan right now. I wouldn’t want to be one.” We both laughed, and I looked at Mike as his face beamed. He and I had watched our Eagles win their first Superbowl together. I had to wait 50 years for that to happen, he only had to wait for 11. He watched is Dad cry tears of joy, both in the victory and in the fact I’d lived long enough to share it with my buddy. Another offering to the great puddle…

That morning, I had told his sister to not just let these moments slip through her fingers. Cherish them, bathe in them, and even though you shouldn’t hold on too long, enjoy them with attention as they happen. Typical of my girl, she gave me an eye roll and a smile that seemed to suggest she both got it and wanted no part of it. For now, anyway.

My boy had a different response as we walked to my car after the ceremony. “Dad, I’m going to sound all philosophical here. You know, deep. I don’t walk backward. I walk forward.”

“But don’t forget to pay attention to where your feet are at the moment. You aren’t up there (I pointed forward), and you aren’t back there (pointing backward). You are right here (pointing to the ground under us).”

“Touche, papa. We are both philosophers, huh?”

“That we are, my boy.” We hugged, and then headed toward the car. We surely splashed in some very figurative puddles along the way. That’s how we roll.

“Wanna go hiking with me this weekend?” I asked my boy, already knowing the answer.

“Um, no Dad. I hate hiking. You actually have to walk a lot.”

There you had it. Order had been restored.

My youngest daughter heads to Washington DC in a few days for a class trip. This will be the first trip she’ll without either one of her parents with her. Yes, her Dad is nervous. She’ll be 1600 miles away from me, and I won’t be there to make sure she’s ok. Her sister is older (10 years) and travels a lot. My youngest girl is different.

Ok, she’s not different. She’s the last girl I have to protect. She’s my baby girl, my middle child, one of the last strings I have to my youth. In what seems like a sweater tattered with only two threads remaining, my youth is fading fast, ready for the landfill, forever to be forgotten. I, like winter, am grasping at whatever I can to hold onto those moments when my body seemed more tolerant of my efforts, and my days seemed longer as I prayed for the years to pass.

Soon, she’ll be a woman and have another man to protect her. “Fuck him,” I say to myself. I know I’m being silly, but she is my girl. The age-old adage of a father having to let go of his treasure, passing away like the seasons being a forgotten winter in the face of a newfound spring. The puddles grow, and will soon be a legacy that will one day dry under a summer sun.

I so wish my kids would slow things down. I know they won’t, but I beg them too. If not for themselves, then for me. I just don’t want this time to pass so quickly. “Enjoy your youth,” I say to them. What I really mean is “let me enjoy your youth. Mine is gone, but yours is just beginning. Don’t pray it away. Play in the puddles with all you have.”

And the young, they can lose hope ’cause they can’t see beyond today,
The wisdom that the old can’t give away ~Pearl Jam, Love Boat Captain

I so enjoy my humanness. The twisting plots and foils of living this life excite me to no end. So through my tears and my smiles, my stumbles and my strength I enjoy it all. I love sharing my thoughts with my kids, even if I know I’m often speaking to a mostly empty auditorium not quite ready to hear the words. They will be one day, and if I’m not around to offer them these things perhaps the memories will survive. Perhaps they’ll take with them a little bit of water on their feet and a little bit of mud on their legs as the Winter turns to Summer and they make resounding puddles of their own. Perhaps they’ll see a little of me in the reflections.