Gideon was woken up from his nap in a rather strange place. The air was dusty and filled with strong smells and unfamiliar noises. Noises he had only heard before in a dream or in some retelling of a fairy tale from the books his father read to him at bed time. He’d been asleep in the car. And now, hesitantly he followed his sisters out of the car, down a rough pathway of stones, and through the massive doorway of a wooden cathedral. Light and dust danced together in the rafters high above. Dirt and hay scattered like fine exotic carpets at his feet. He was surrounded by the musty smell of incense and mystery. Hidden angels sang to him in warm, sweet…
A father's struggle to capture his children's brief moment of youth in words and pictures
Archive for
A pink bicycle helmet lays in the middle of my bathroom floor next to a crumpled up towel. On the side of the helmet are the letters LGS, the initials of my youngest daughter, the one who tore my towel rod from the wall several months ago, which now forces me to keep my towel crumpled on the floor next to a bicycle helmet. In the bathtub I find a small orange squirt gun and a large magnifying glass. If you had to guess which one of these resulted in the biggest argument between the little girls that shared the bathtub last, you would probably guess wrong. Children are very possessive of their magnifying glasses. I place these aside. They were on top of…
My wife and I were driving downtown the other day when my four year old daughter suddenly interrupted us with an alarming question from the backseat. It was the kind of question that parents dread being asked. The sort of question that usually makes you stop what you are doing so you can sit down in front of your child and “get real” for a few minutes. The kind you train for, and plan out, like a bomb expert planning how to defuse a homemade explosive, knowing that when the time comes you will only have seconds to clip the correct series of wires before the whole thing goes up in flames. Right now you are directing a trickle of water, but quickly these…
“Rootbeer.” “It wasn’t Rootbeer,” Clara demanded. “It was Rootbeer,” Lydia said again. The girls were having a disagreement in the backseat. It was a relatively calm disagreement, but I knew their mother and I were going to be pulled into it eventually. “Dad! Tell, Lydia she is wrong about… Rootbeer,” Clara called up finally. “Okay. What are you even talking about?” Lydia answered, “There was a new girl in my class today.” “Alright,” I prompted. “And her name was Rootbeer-” “It was not Rootbeer!” Clara cut her off. I threw a hand in the backseat to calm the two of them down. I counted a few seconds to myself before responding. “Alright, Lydia. I don’t know the little girl in your class, but I…
Where Are We Here? 