I watch them when they are not looking and sometimes when they are. My eyes find it hard to release the fixation. Whether it is an "ordinary" thing they are doing or something extraordinary my eyes soak them in like a dry sponge, especially when they are sleeping.
I delight in them.
Dropping them off one by one at their schools, I get a quick "love you" from my 14-year old while he glances at himself in the reflection of the truck window before slinging his backpack over his 6' 1'" frame. As he walks to the front doors I pray for him to be a light to his classmates. It's his first year in this school and in this town, but he has done well and I am proud of his determination and of his kindness. He amazed me two months ago by agreeing to go to a turnabout dance with a girl who has some special needs. Blew me away. He told me later he couldn't believe how the other girls were impressed by this—maybe it was a glimpse for them into his heart. It was for me, and I thought I knew him.
(I ran bleachers with him tonight after his track meet and heard about his friends and what he is thinking of doing this summer to get prepared for football. It was good to just be with him on his terms. We also ran some 50's and 100's together and I officially can no longer stay with him past 60 meters. I knew the day would come, but not so soon.)
My kindergardener and I are the first to arrive at the elementary school. Soon moms and dads roll up in the minis and SUVs. I am surprised at how many pajama bottoms I see poking out of the winter coats.
We unbuckle and talk for a while until a friend arrives and I walk her toward the doors. Looking around I see a lot of parents holding little hands and notice all of the backpacks look way too big. When we get to the doors she makes two attempts to give me a kiss in front of her friend and a quick hug. I make sure her coat is zipped and backpack is okay before whispering into her ear "I love you." I can feel the moisture start to form on my eyes as I turn to go. Then experience an odd sense that life, learning isn't supposed to be this way even though it is and wish she could just hang out with me for the day. As I walk back to my truck I pray for her protection, abundant creativity and for her to be a joyful soul.
When I see her at home after our days are done I always ask her the same three questions: Did you make any friends? Did you foofer in class? Did you hit anyone? (She laughs every time.)
I know the day is fast approaching this year when winter will undress and spring will clothe this rural college town. My bike will come out of hibernation and mom will make these morning drops. So today, I soak it all in and feel the delight of them being my children and of the wonder I find in being their dad.
