Thursday, February 03, 2005
Moment to cling to when times are tough
By Russell King
Moments will come, during life as an American dad that will give you the notion that you’re not an entire failure. Moments will come that will make you proud.
Maya and Jaden, now 4 and 5, were settling down for the night. Teeth were brushed and PJs were on, but stories had not yet begun. You’d think we were safe in our little cocoon of blankets, Teddy Bears and hugs, but the terror of the real world broke in.
Maya mentioned it first. “If I could, I’d go really fast and build up all new houses for the children of the big wave” (her wave of referring to the younger victims of the recent tsunami). Before I could respond, she went on: I’d make a nice place for them to sleep and give them lots of my toys and food.”
Jaden picked up the theme. “And I’d give them all of my stuffed animals—except Snowy (his favorite)—so they won’t be scared at night.” Pause. “Will a big wave come smash our house?”
I assured them that we were far from the reaches of tidal waves and gushed about how proud I was of them for caring.
Rylee, 9, took caring a step further. She took action. Rylee and the rest of her fourth grade class hatched the idea of holding a fund-raising event to benefit the children who were victims of the tsunami. They won the approval, support and admiration of their teacher and principal (bless you Ms. Freiss and Ms. Berge) and set at once to planning, dividing responsibilities and herding parents into the program.
On a Saturday afternoon, they turned the school’s “cafegymatorium” into a movie theater, complete with concession stand. The homemade treats (Rylee stayed up late the night before, popping enough popcorn to fill garbage bags), hot chocolate, pop and coffee were a hit with the discerning cartoon and animated feature film audience, and more than $1,000 was raised and donated. One classmate went door-to-door, asking for donations, and added $100 to the pot. (I’ll mention, but not dwell on, how these children have put most of us adults to shame.)
This, as Ms. Freiss, said, is the stuff of goose bumps. This, I suppose, is also fair warning to the world: This caring little girl who translates the impulses of her soul into action is also the owner of an exceedingly rare level of inner strength and courage. She will lead, we will follow and all will be the better for it. And this is, of course, one of those moments when a dad stands back, feels a bit dizzy with pride and whispers, “That’s my girl.”
Another such moment came in a quieter way the summer before last, when Jaden and I were hiking through the woods on a family camping trip. Our path came upon an enormous tree that had grown old, died, toppled over and was now crumbling back to the soil. Jaden wanted to know why this tree was lying down.
“It was born in the earth, and now it is going back to the earth,” I said, trying to explain death in a way that wouldn’t frighten a 3-year-old. “When anything dies, the life that was in it goes back into the earth and makes new life.”
We talked about the cycle of life and death for a while, then sat quietly in the fragrant shadows and listened to the hum of the summer woods. When I said we’d better get back to camp, Jaden protested.
“I can’t leave, Daddy.”
“Why not?”
“I have to stay with this tree, so it won’t be scared.” He gently patted the wood.
Empathy. Compassion. Commitment. A willingness to sacrifice to ease the pain of another. If there are other traits he could possess that would evoke stronger, more positive emotions from me, I can’t think what they might be. I had to blink back the tears.
“Look all around us,” I said, sweeping my out-stretched hand in a wide arc, “there are trees everywhere. All these trees are this tree’s family and friends. They will stay here. They will keep your tree company and keep it from being afraid.”
Jaden considered the forest for a moment, started to walk away, then ran back to give the decaying tree a kiss and one last comforting pat.
I scooped him up and put him on my shoulders for the walk back to camp. He deserved to travel like a champion.
And then, there are those instants that will slip by undetected, lost, if you’re not paying attention. We could hear on the monitor that Maya was having a rough night, so I went upstairs to get her. When I lifted her from her covers, she wrapped her arms snuggly around my neck and laid her head on my shoulder. I thought she’d stay sleeping as I carried her to our bed, but as we reached the bottom of the stairs she lifted her head and squinted at me.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I love you.”
After that, there is no more to say.
Note: If you've enjoyed reading American Dad, you can show your appreciation by sending a donation to one of the three places listed here. I have good friends who are doing exceptionally good things at each of these places. Thanks!
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church ELCA, 5701 Raymond Rd., Madison, WI 53711
St. John's Lutheran Church, N3882 County Highway KK, Weyauwega, WI 54983-9736
Trinity Lutheran Church, 3 S 460 Curtis Avenue, Warrenville, IL 60555
By Russell King
Moments will come, during life as an American dad that will give you the notion that you’re not an entire failure. Moments will come that will make you proud.
Maya and Jaden, now 4 and 5, were settling down for the night. Teeth were brushed and PJs were on, but stories had not yet begun. You’d think we were safe in our little cocoon of blankets, Teddy Bears and hugs, but the terror of the real world broke in.
Maya mentioned it first. “If I could, I’d go really fast and build up all new houses for the children of the big wave” (her wave of referring to the younger victims of the recent tsunami). Before I could respond, she went on: I’d make a nice place for them to sleep and give them lots of my toys and food.”
Jaden picked up the theme. “And I’d give them all of my stuffed animals—except Snowy (his favorite)—so they won’t be scared at night.” Pause. “Will a big wave come smash our house?”
I assured them that we were far from the reaches of tidal waves and gushed about how proud I was of them for caring.
Rylee, 9, took caring a step further. She took action. Rylee and the rest of her fourth grade class hatched the idea of holding a fund-raising event to benefit the children who were victims of the tsunami. They won the approval, support and admiration of their teacher and principal (bless you Ms. Freiss and Ms. Berge) and set at once to planning, dividing responsibilities and herding parents into the program.
On a Saturday afternoon, they turned the school’s “cafegymatorium” into a movie theater, complete with concession stand. The homemade treats (Rylee stayed up late the night before, popping enough popcorn to fill garbage bags), hot chocolate, pop and coffee were a hit with the discerning cartoon and animated feature film audience, and more than $1,000 was raised and donated. One classmate went door-to-door, asking for donations, and added $100 to the pot. (I’ll mention, but not dwell on, how these children have put most of us adults to shame.)
This, as Ms. Freiss, said, is the stuff of goose bumps. This, I suppose, is also fair warning to the world: This caring little girl who translates the impulses of her soul into action is also the owner of an exceedingly rare level of inner strength and courage. She will lead, we will follow and all will be the better for it. And this is, of course, one of those moments when a dad stands back, feels a bit dizzy with pride and whispers, “That’s my girl.”
Another such moment came in a quieter way the summer before last, when Jaden and I were hiking through the woods on a family camping trip. Our path came upon an enormous tree that had grown old, died, toppled over and was now crumbling back to the soil. Jaden wanted to know why this tree was lying down.
“It was born in the earth, and now it is going back to the earth,” I said, trying to explain death in a way that wouldn’t frighten a 3-year-old. “When anything dies, the life that was in it goes back into the earth and makes new life.”
We talked about the cycle of life and death for a while, then sat quietly in the fragrant shadows and listened to the hum of the summer woods. When I said we’d better get back to camp, Jaden protested.
“I can’t leave, Daddy.”
“Why not?”
“I have to stay with this tree, so it won’t be scared.” He gently patted the wood.
Empathy. Compassion. Commitment. A willingness to sacrifice to ease the pain of another. If there are other traits he could possess that would evoke stronger, more positive emotions from me, I can’t think what they might be. I had to blink back the tears.
“Look all around us,” I said, sweeping my out-stretched hand in a wide arc, “there are trees everywhere. All these trees are this tree’s family and friends. They will stay here. They will keep your tree company and keep it from being afraid.”
Jaden considered the forest for a moment, started to walk away, then ran back to give the decaying tree a kiss and one last comforting pat.
I scooped him up and put him on my shoulders for the walk back to camp. He deserved to travel like a champion.
And then, there are those instants that will slip by undetected, lost, if you’re not paying attention. We could hear on the monitor that Maya was having a rough night, so I went upstairs to get her. When I lifted her from her covers, she wrapped her arms snuggly around my neck and laid her head on my shoulder. I thought she’d stay sleeping as I carried her to our bed, but as we reached the bottom of the stairs she lifted her head and squinted at me.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I love you.”
After that, there is no more to say.
Note: If you've enjoyed reading American Dad, you can show your appreciation by sending a donation to one of the three places listed here. I have good friends who are doing exceptionally good things at each of these places. Thanks!
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church ELCA, 5701 Raymond Rd., Madison, WI 53711
St. John's Lutheran Church, N3882 County Highway KK, Weyauwega, WI 54983-9736
Trinity Lutheran Church, 3 S 460 Curtis Avenue, Warrenville, IL 60555
