FOUR
September 16, 2009
We wave at our shadows. He is just learning about shadows and their capability for making funny shapes. He stands staring at the ground as I stand next to him, my hands dancing wildly for his amusement. Feeling tired and no longer silly, I bend down to his height and we smile at each other without thinking about it. It just happens, like a bunny hops. I stand back up, take his soft hand in mine and continue toward the playground.
All of the worms that had come out to bask in yesterday’s rain are crispy and fascinating underfoot. Each fried one we step over, he bends down and reaches with his free hand to pick it up. It is an unexpectedly hot day. His blond baby hair creates sweaty curls at the back of his neck, forming perfect circles he has yet to learn how to draw.
“No, don’t touch that. That’s dirty. It’s a dead worm.”
“itsa dead worm itsa dead worm”
“That’s right. It’s a dead worm, and we don’t touch those.”
Continuing down the sidewalk, a few feet later we repeat the discovery. He points to the dead worms and I identify them as such. Our progress toward the playground is slow. He has not been corrupted by the sense of ticking time yet, and I plan to keep it that way. We walk hand in hand, seeing our shadows and stopping to wave and smile. Our shadows comply by waving excitedly back, though they are incapable of ever expressing such happiness of their own.
This one is perfect. As a parent, I try not to rush my son when he dilly-dallies, mispronounces a word, or takes too long to observe something new; he’s got the whole rest of his life to get places on time, say things correctly, and be responsible. For now, I want him to indulge in life’s mysteries and find pleasure in the little things. There is so much to see when you go at life at a child’s pace. I’ve learned so much from him, and hopefully someday he will teach this kind of observation and joy to his own children.