So, after the McDonald’s incident, our bellies full and our hearts lighter, we went to the district’s elementary school for the 1st and 2nd grade musical, an homage to the world of reading called “A Book Is a Magic Carpet.” There were Whos from Who-ville, dinosaurs shaking their tails, kids being jumped on my mud puddles, and Alice in Wonderland, my daughter (on the right), finding everything “curiouser and curiouser.” The set was elaborate and the kids were in top form.
And I cried.
I always cry at these things. Not the great sobs of grief but the gentle tugging of the heartstrings that clouds the eyes and restricts breathing for the shortest moment in time. These times seem to come more frequently lately, nearly always unbidden, but almost always are a result of taking time to reflect, or allowing myself to stop doing whatever I’m doing and just be moved.
I’ve always been a sentimental guy. Some scene from a movie (“Hey, Dad? You wanna have a catch?“) or a line from a book (“This beach, so soft, firm and vast, was like the cheek of God . . .“) will sneak up on me and embrace my mind with gentle fingers that caress my emotions and send me quietly reeling. As I watched my daughter say her lines – such poise and precision and joy – I welcomed the notion that this indeed is a good place to be and all is well with the world. In moments like this, I actually believe I’ve been a good dad and my kids are happy and feel safe and know that I care about them. Or perhaps I simply choose to face the fact that life is going by so quickly and it’s a good thing to stop and be a part of something bigger, something profoundly life-embracing and rest for a bit knowing that time will speed up again very soon. To live knowing that moments like this exist and will come again makes slogging through the rough patches a bit easier.
Take the time today to have a thought that moves you. You won’t regret it.