Tuesday, October 16, 2012

October 16 – “The real treasure”


I suppose I showed my age the other day.  It happened when Cailyn and I went for a walk.  That’s always a great experience, and this time proved no different.  We went all the way to the end of the street.  Seems she wanted to show me the Halloween decorations down there which are pretty extensive.  Ghosts in the trees, skeletons coming out of the ground, bats hanging from eaves, and of course jack-o-lanterns of all shapes and sizes, which led to a long discussion about her need to get a pumpkin and my need to get a pumpkin and her Mommy’s need to get a pumpkin and Nani’s need to … see what I mean about long discussion?  When she completed her list of needy pumpkin people, she determined that it was time to head back to Nani’s house.  Taking my hand firmly, she announced, “We have to look both ways before we cross the street.”  That’s my girl, ever safety conscious.  She took long looks in both directions and then led me across.  I felt like the proverbial old woman being helped across the street by a Girl Scout. 

Once we got to the other side she made an exciting discovery.  The first yard we encountered was littered with treasure.  That treasure was in the form of sticks, but it was obviously treasure nonetheless.  Cailyn handed me her little purse and began gathering as many as she could hold in her hands.  I’m not sure what they were to be used for in her rapidly developing scenario, but they were all-important pieces at that moment in time.  Finally satisfied that she had all she needed, we continued our journey, she proudly carrying her sticks and me strutting by her side carrying her purse.

After passing a few houses she suddenly stopped.  She turned to me with a look of excitement, like she had just remembered where the candy was hidden or something.  Thrusting her trove of sticks into my hands, she declared, “It’s time to run now, DadDad.”  And off she went.  Apparently we were now in the home stretch and it was time to turn on the afterburners (Is that the right word?).  What I mean is, this was no “Look at me, I can skip.”  She had already shown me that skill earlier.  Nope.  This time she started running.  

Now I used to be able to keep up with her little legs by just quickening my pace slightly.  Not so any more.  She is three now, and an apparent improvement in capacity for speed is a natural part of the developmental process.  No more just walking faster for the alleged “adult in charge.”  Summoning all the energy I could muster, I broke into an all-out, no holds barred, slow jog.  I was barely able to keep her in my sights, but fortunately – and unfortunately, depending on your perspective - there were a few neighbors out, and they kept an eye on her as she raced past.  Of course that meant they also looked around to see if this beautiful little girl was frolicking through the neighborhood on her own.  There was fire in their eyes for the obviously incompetent parent who dared to let this little one race through the dangerous streets all by herself.  Until their gaze finally lit on … that old guy with the purse, way back there, chasing her with obviously every ounce of “speed” he could muster.  Their expression immediately changed from fierce, protect-the-children rage to one of … amused pity.  I smiled weakly at them each time and waved a neighborly greeting like this was our usual routine and we had everything under control. 

I managed to keep my composure and my rate of “speed” right up until it happened.  I don’t know how it happened.  One second I was jogging merrily along and the next there I was, flat on my face, sprawled out on the sidewalk amid splintered sticks and a well-protected purse, held closely to my chest.  Yep.  I just fell.  Didn’t hit anything that I saw.  Just stumbled.  Scraped up my knee a bit.  Jarred everything else.  I definitely felt it in my elbows, those storehouses of RA soreness.  But I jumped right up.  OK, I slowly scraped myself off the ground, looking around to see if any the neighbors witnessed the event.  I was already preparing my “It’s OK, I’m fine” speech, but thankfully I didn’t need it.  A strategically parked car had blocked the view of the nearest potential witness.  I was in the clear. 

I made it home.  Cailyn, who had already been inside and had a drink of water, greeted me with, “Where’s my sticks, DadDad?”  The sticks.  Alas.  I had forgotten them in my haste to regain my dignity, er, I mean my feet, my balance, my … OK, my dignity.  I apologized for leaving the sticks, but about then she saw my battle scar, my scraped knee.  It was bleeding, and that, of course, is a crisis.  All thoughts of imagined treasure vanished, replaced by the urgency of concern.  I didn’t reject her compassion.  She led me inside and like a little nurse she helped Chris bandage it.  And that, as they say, made it all better.  I wonder if they make bandaids for an old ex-athlete’s injured pride? 

Psalms 34:7 says, “The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and he delivers them.”

Father, thank you for the little angel you sent us who we call Cailyn.  Amen.

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