Somewhere, in the middle of the fifth song, in the seventh scene, near the end of the first act, I found myself staring down the barrel of a gun. I had brought my wife and children out on a clear blue February day to the theater downtown. The sun set behind us as we shuffled through the park holding ice cream in our shivering fingers and we shared giddy laughter that bubbled between us and echoed off the ice-covered trees. We were in high spirits. Nothing could possibly ruin this evening. We were on our way to a special Sing-a-long presentation of the Broadway musical The Sound of Music. My girls knew the story well (although, they were disappointed to learn that Julie Andrews…
A father's struggle to capture his children's brief moment of youth in words and pictures
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Lydia and Gideon were jumping and diving their way through Costco. They leaped and bound from one island to the next as they were only allowed to step on shadows made by the massive pillars of cereal and protein powder. Then they suddenly came to an ocean where no shadows were in reach. They were stuck on the edge of the world. Their family moved ahead without them, hardly noticing the two castaways left behind on the shadowy shoreline. Suddenly Gideon had an idea. They could walk on their own shadow! You see, he explained, there is always a shadow underneath their feet. In this way, they could actually walk where ever they felt like without danger of being swallowed up by the floor.…
Clara sat down heavy onto the couch and groaned. “What’s wrong?,” I asked. “I’m just upset,” she said, and flipped her hand in the air. “my mood ring… It says I’m calm. But I’m not calm, and that stresses me out, which just makes it even more wrong!” “Oh, okay, I understand,” I lied.
On the morning of Clara’s 10th birthday, I heard her quietly climb out of bed and step into the hallway. I half closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep, but I saw her fuzzy shadow as she peeked through the crack in my door. When she was convinced I was sleeping, she tiptoed back to her own room and shut the door, turning the knob as she did so it would close silently without a click. I smiled to myself thinking about how it all felt like such a 10-year-old thing to do. She didn’t wake up in our bed, screaming, like those first few years. And she didn’t come bounding onto my chest like a wild animal hungry to face the day…
“Alright guys,” Gideon got our attention at the dinner table. He had an announcement to make. When we were all looking, he puffed out his little chest and said, “I can count all the way to Forty-EIGHT!” “Oh wow!” I said along with his sisters and Mom. “That’s impressive. But you know, why stop there? I bet you can count higher than that even!” “Really?” he shook with excitement. “Yeah. Just keep going. Like, what comes after forty-eight?” He considered this for half a second and said confidently, “Oh, forty-seven!” “Huh… Wow!” We all said happily again, “Gideon, you can count to forty-eight!” He bowed to each of us causing himself to teeter on his chair and almost fall onto his plate of tacos.
I tossed an orange in the air and caught it and there was a gasp across the room and a rattle of footsteps. My son was looking up at me, mouth hanging open. “Do that again!” he said, in disbelief. “What? The thing with the orange?” He nodded silently. I tossed the orange and caught it a few more times. He fumbled for a dining room chair and sat down before his legs gave out. “That is so cool. You should work in the circus…” “Yeah?” I continued throwing the orange back and forth between my hands. “Maybe.” He waved a hand and pointed, “No. You really should. You are JUGGLING, Dad. I never knew you could juggle!” I tossed the orange under my…
The girls backed out of the driveway and Gideon and I were suddenly left alone at the dinner table in a quiet house. I glanced back and forth at the stacks of dishes left behind as Andrea and the girls rushed to finish eating so they could leave in time for their movie. I slouched in my chair and looked back at my son. He was wiping a smear of tomato sauce around on his face. “Well, Gidbot… how should we clean up this mess?” He explored his chin with his tongue and his eyes rolled back in his head thoughtfully. “Oh… It’s a really big mess.” “Yeah.” But then his face lit up with inspiration. “Oh! I have an idea!” “What’s that?” “We could…
A long time ago someone told me that reading to your children would make them smarter and at the time I was far too young and naive to realize the danger in such a thing as a “smart child”. However, ten years later and I’m still reading to them every night, and honestly, I sometimes question just how smart it is actually making them. Now, don’t get me wrong, I think my children are very smart. I’m proud of the way they see and question the world around them, and I often see them applying things that we read about in books. Like when they leave the front door open and fill our living room with snow like in Mr.Popper’s Penguins. Or when they…
Lydia glumly picked at her skirt and sighed. “I feel bad,” she said. “About what, dear?” I sat down next to her on the couch. “Oh… about chickens.” I was not expecting this answer, but I ran a hand down her arm anyway, as she was obviously feeling real emotions over these chickens or whatever. “Oh. Why are you sad about the… Chickens?” “I just don’t understand why they always have to be the punchline of jokes. Why does everyone always think chickens are funny? It’s not fair.” “Huh.” I nodded considering all of the chickens crossing the road that I have carelessly made fun of all my life, and all of the rubber chickens I have laughed at. “Chickens are pretty funny I…
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