We pulled into the garage late last night after a long evening with friends. The girls roused in their car seats and yawned while I reached back from the front to unbuckle them. They smiled dreamy smiles and waved at me slowly with their eyelashes. I smiled back. I was pleased to see that they were both waking up in a good mood, considering they were so exhausted and had only just recently fallen asleep on the dark ride home. As I released the straps on Lydia’s seat and delicately helped her pull her arms free, she leaned casually towards her sister and said in a rather conversational tone, “Okay Clara, let’s go inside now so we can scream and cry and run around,…
A father's struggle to capture his children's brief moment of youth in words and pictures
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“Clara,” I called into the backseat as we wound our way home, “I didn’t see you open your birthday presents at the party this evening. What was your favorite gift?” She thought for just a second and then answered confidently, “Okay, well it wasn’t exactly a present I opened, but my favorite thing was getting to snuggle with so many people.” And then she listed them, as if they were a table of her favorite foods, a rainbow of beautiful people pulled close to her heart and then held there. Smiles shared like candy. Laughter shared like fireworks. “I snuggled with Grandma, and Granddaddy, and I got to snuggle with Brady and Aspen, and Erin and I snuggled together on the couch, and Isaac…
“Who drew on this?” I held up my portable speaker. “Someone scribbled on it with a pink marker.” Lydia looked up from her seat in her mom’s lap across the room. “Lydia! You aren’t supposed to draw on things. Scribbling on walls and bed posts and tables is not allowed. You are old enough to know better.” She shook her head. “I didn’t do it Daddy. Someone else did.” She climbed down and walked over to my chair. She gasped in mock surprise, “Maybe a stranger did it.” “No, Lydia, that is nonsense. Don’t blame things on other people.” About this time Clara came wandering over from the kitchen where she had been shoveling the last of her strawberry sauce from breakfast onto her…
I was woken up late last night by the sound of our bedroom door slowly being pushed open. The long agonizing continuous sound of an ungreased hinge echoing through the room. It was like an unsheathing sword of infinite length grumbling a guttural whine as it was pulled free and readied for war. I held my eyes closed and waited for the noise to end, but it continued and continued digging into my ribs, burning into the side of my head, shattering awake my sleeping mind even as I squeezed my eyes shut in protest, and covered my head in my bed sheets. Finally I rolled over to look at the door. Which of my zombie half awake children were torturing me at this…
Clara hefted her tiny backpack higher up on her shoulders and giggled anxiously. She was the perfect model of an excited kindergartner waiting for a school bus, but the little homeschooler was simply playing out the illusion she has watched out the front window so many times. She has often gazed in wonder at the shadowy figures waiting in the cold air with their books and paper, leaving a trail of breath as they board the noisy yellow machine every morning. She has struggled to understand this bizarre and arcane ritual which is always separated from her by a pane of glass. Now, as she left for her grandmother’s house with a loaded backpack, she happily explored this mysterious activity in the realm of…
The three of them stood at the base of the mountain. At the head of the group stood their leader, the shortest of the three, a young woman in a purple gown and a flowered headband. She stooped now, steady and confident in the swirling snow, and examined a magazine. “This says there is a treasure!” She said excitedly, “It’s hidden in a glacier that is shaped like a house.” “Oh yes!” Said the second girl, looking over her shoulder. “A glacier shaped like a house. I know where that is. I can lead the way!” This was their native guide. A young woman that chose to go by the name “Waterdrop”. She pushed her way past the others and charged up the mountain.…
Where Are We Here? 