December 15 – “The Walk”

It is so much fun taking Cailyn to school when she is in a great morning mood.  Sometimes she arrives, carried in on her Dad’s shoulder or shuffling in front of her Mom.  She plops down into one of the rocking chairs and covers up, head and all, with her blanket.  None of that, however, is an indicator of how the day will go.  I just greet the parent, wish them a great day, and wait patiently.  On a rough day, Cailyn stays buried for quite a while, apparently struggling to grab a few extra winks.  And that I understand and appreciate, for I am married to someone who lives for that extra few moments every morning.  On a good day, though, the moment her parent disappears through the door, the blanket flies into the air and a wide-awake, smiling, energetic, morning-person explodes from within.  She is ready to leap (literally) into my lap with morning greetings.  She wants to draw or watch a video or show me what she can write or make a booklet of sight words for her teacher or … eat.  That’s it.  Suddenly it hits her that she’s hungry, and nothing else will do.  No finishing the next sentence in my blog.  No reading the last comic strip in the paper.  It’s time to move.  Wait.  Unless it’s time to go see if Nani is awake.  Yes, that’s it.  We have to go wake up Nani.  And she’s off.  But the call of the stomach is hard to combat, so within moments she is back, urging me to join her for some frozen waffles, or maybe a poptart or how about a honeybun?  Yep.  Those are the mornings I greatly prefer.  A youngster after my own heart.

The other day, after just such a whirlwind start to the day, we arrived at school.  As she was putting her boots back on (come on, you can’t expect a free spirit to wear boots in the car, can you?), I responded to something she said.  Now I don’t even remember now what it was on either count, but apparently it was not the appropriate answer.  With a knowing, conspiratorial glance at Nani, she gazed at me with her cutest, most tolerant, little “that was really funny, you old geezer” grin.  She said, “You don’t have your hearing aids in, do you, DadDad?”  Actually, I did.  But it was time to get to the school building, so I let it pass.  If anyone finds out where I messed up, let me know.

The short walk to the front door can also hold thrills of its own.  That particular day as we ambled along, Cailyn looked up at me with the most serious of expressions (always dangerous).  She asked, “DadDad, can you skip?”

 

Not one to back down from an implied challenge, I replied, “Sure.”

And never one to pass up an opportunity to be wacky with DadDad, she pressed right ahead, “Let’s skip.”

And there you have it.  When you’re five years old, there is no world except the one you live in, and I had just been invited in.  No matter that parents were hustling there young charges toward the front door, or rushing back to their cars to hurry to work to start their worry-filled day.  No matter.  It was skipping time.  And so we did.  Well, at least I did.  It took me a second or two to realize it, but she was just walking by my side, holding my hand like I was a young puppy on the end of a leash, and smiling.  I stopped and stared down at her, not saying anything.  Finally she looked up at me and couldn’t stifle a chuckle.  “Go on, DadDad.  You’re doing a good job.  You skip.  I’ll walk.”

That brought a quick response.  I wasn’t going to waste my own early morning joy and not have someone to share it with.  I replied, “Uh, no.  It doesn’t work that way.  We both have to skip.”

That brought a full-on laugh.  Still oblivious to the rest of the foot traffic rushing to and fro around us, she agreed to join me.  Well, sort of.  After a false start or two we settled into a compromise of sorts.  One skip step, one walk step.  A very strange approach, I know.  But as we got into a rhythm, it proved quite entertaining for those other harried folks who just thought they would be dropping their kids off for another boring day at school.  Guess it will be a while before they can erase the bizarre image from their minds of the bespectacled old geezer and the vivacious young beauty, skipping (sort of) hand-in-hand into another day, not caring who saw them or what anyone thought.  Hmm.  Wonder what we can do tomorrow?

Psalms 59:16 says, “But I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble.”

Father, thank you for the freedom to enjoy – really enjoy – early mornings.  Enough said.  Amen.