Teamwork.

Daddy, DADDY! he called with a dignified shriek from somewhere in the bowels of our home.

Yes? I called out halfmindedly, as the exact timbre of this shriek led me to believe no one was significantly injured, and therefore I did not need to be exhausting my body’s remaining life battery to hyper-speed myself physically to the location of the shriek. How may I serve you?

The exact nature of the remaining interchange eludes me, but I will say that I did eventually make my to the young individual requesting my immediate assistance, and the immediate nature of need was that he was conveying, on behalf of another brother, is that the brother was done going poop, and needed me immediately.

Um, why didn’t he tell me himself? I asked, looking at the person who had done the communicating, and then looking to the person on whose behalf he was communicating, and the total distance separating them of less than three feet, as one of them dangled his legs over the toilet.

They looked at each other in amazement, and burst out laughing, before looking back at me; the Idiot-in-Charge who couldn’t grasp why they had divvied up the task the way they had.

I asked again. Why couldn’t you ask me yourself?

The younger looked at me, at his brother, back at me, shaking his head incredulously. Because Daddy, he’s on the toilet and couldn’t get off to tell you!

The laughter continued.

I nodded, and looked again at these two, and the three feet separating them. Good thing, I said, wrapping up some toilet paper, good thing you have a good system worked out.

Yeah, the younger said. I was just telling you that he’s done going poop.

Work work work.

There is something that makes a family strong when you do outside work together. Even if it’s only 45 minutes.

Drivers ed crash course.

Yes, I gave our daughter a driving lesson atop our mountain; handing over the wheel and control as we left the woods and careened dangerously at ten miles per hour around our subsidized housing units (some call them mole hills) and around a magnificent and dignified goat (goes by the affectionate and apt name of Stinky), and assorted obstacles left there by three younger brothers. With some shrieks and gasps and foot dancing between brake and gas, I dreamed of what it will be like to take a nap in the passenger seat someday while she chauffeurs us around. Finally, she pulled us into the driveway, and did not manufacture a new hole in the front of our home; a happening that would most likely reduce the structure’s assessed value by a good fifty dollars.

Langston Hughes.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Well, sometimes dreams get put off because of things like your mower breaking down repeatedly. Perhaps there’s good conversations to be had about the role of combustion engines in today’s world, or the necessity of cutting down grass (or weeds) rather than letting what grows grow, or maybe there’s other thoughts to think about as they pertain to time spent working on a yard.

Here’s the thing: there’s people who enjoy working on their yard; on making it look all pretty or perfect. I don’t. I like being outside. I like playing with my kids - tag, catch, jumping, climbing, hiking, slip ‘n sliding, sprinklers, all that. I like sitting around campfires and playing music outdoors and watching sunsets and walking in the early morning. I like being outside. But I am not somebody who feels a need to throw my being or identity into a constant stream of self-initiated, self-motivated projects. No, that’s not me. I’m in the triage-and-survival corner of that world: try to keep things going and working well enough to keep going and keep a base level of productivity, usefulness, and possibly dignity, when it comes to outdoor upkeep. Mostly, I want to step outside and feel good, and not have trash or junk or all over, and make it possible for us to use the area we have for playing, learning, relaxing, and…using.

That’s where a mower comes in. A working mower. With our bumpy terrain, rolling topography, and exploding mole retirement community, being able to keep our grass (e.g. wild weeds) at a manageable level is a necessity. It’s hard on a mower. Sixteen years on, it’s a battle trying to keep my Cub Cadet going. My father-in-law’s a handy man sometimes with figuring things out, and I’m grateful for his assistance at different points. I’m appreciative to YouTube for helping me through a dozen minor issues every summer. But this is all work before the actual work. I’m resentful of that. I don’t enjoy working on or fixing small engines or machines. It’s not an effective use of my skills, time, or interests. But it has to be done.

So other things are deferred.

New things.

A two-year old tries cucumbers. He’s intrigued. Maybe not sold. But intrigued. I like that: you open the door and gently guide through, and repeat, and repeat, and respect them enough to keep encouraging new things and new ideas and new foods.

I love this boy’s insatiable and inquisitive spirit with animals, with nature, with learning. He gently tends to a new kitten; he has fast become a favorite.

Five-year old hygiene.

Did you brush your teeth? I asked.

Yes, he said firmly, with a slight smile, I did. I mean, yeah. Yeah…but not really.

Maybe we’ll do one more brush together, I suggested.

Childhood! Bond for elementary.

The Spy Kids trilogy, in spite of a linear decline in quality, is still an enjoyable, action-packed espionage romp. Pretty cool that Robert Rodriguez made a high-production value action series, for kids, with kids, that’s filled with thrills without trying to be ‘edgy.’ Seems like a quaint idea. It’s neat: an action movie (trilogy) for kids, packed with chases and fights and villains, that’s visceral and thrilling, and has this: heart. Heart, sincerity, family, loyalty, and plain old-fashioned character-building stuff swirled up. Plus, Danny Trejo. Tres cool.

Tennis.

If you can find a public court, and if you can scrounge up some balls and rackets - or even if you can’t - then do so. Tennis is an underrated activity; one that offers - again, if you can find a free public place to play - an array of options for all ages. That’s my experience anyway. Sometimes we even finish a match. Sometimes.

Featured