We’ve all used or heard the old cliche that parents learn more from their kids than kids learn from their parents. I am someone who not only says that, but believes it wholeheartedly. Today was one of those days that reinforced it.
It was a really nice day, and we decided to embark on a late morning walk. We like to let the kids run and race around the park, and today they raced to a big tree in the corner. Erin and I stayed back and then saw Amelia running back on her own. Henry was just sitting under the tree. We called for him and he wouldn’t come. Amelia ran back, spent a few seconds trying to convince him, and then ran back, shrugging.
So now it was my turn. I walked over to see what was going on. I crouched down to talk to Henry. “Hey buddy, don’t you want to come for a walk with us?”
Henry just smiled the most relaxed, contented smile I could imagine, and said, “No. I sit by the tree.”
He was at one with that moment in a way that I could only ever dream of. He was breathing the fresh air, enjoying the shade and playing with the needles on the ground. I could literally feel the tranquility emanating from him.
Important thing to note, here. If you’ve never met Henry, seeing this moment of pure universal calm from him would be kind of like seeing Andre the Giant execute a perfect triple axel and stick the landing while juggling five Faberge eggs.
I could feel all the parental urges inside me, saying, “Hey, we came out here to take a walk on this path at this time and darn it, you’re coming with us.” But his gentle conviction of his place in this moment made me realize how absurd that was. We are in quarantine. I have the day off. We have nowhere to be. Why shouldn’t he be able to absorb all the joy he can in the here and now?
So I sat with him for a minute or two, quiet. He just smiled and stared out at the park. Lately I’ve been rewatching the Ken Burns Jazz documentary series, and I was reminded of the way Wynton Marsalis described Thelonious Monk: “Monk was like the oldest, wisest sage you ever met, but also a 4-year-old child.”
That was how that moment felt for me. My son taught me the extraordinarily simple and extremely difficult practice of being present.
After a couple of minutes, I told Henry I needed to go back by the others, and got up to leave. He had apparently taken his moment with the tree, and quietly got up to follow me. The other zen lesson I learned here was the transitory nature of moments like this. Nothing is permanent. Not Henry’s moment with the tree, and not his tranquil energy. Fear not, a few hours later he was back to screaming in the backyard and throwing dirt at his sister.
Back to the walk, we had a nice stroll and also let the kids and Asta do some more running in the open space. I was also running, basically as ballast for Asta. At one point she accelerated so fast and caught me so flat footed that I my arm stretched out as far as it could go holding the leash. I ran as fast as I possibly could trying to catch up. My clumsy stride could best be described as Dagwood-Bumstead-esque.
At home, we did some cleaning and I had another lesson in claiming the moment from Amelia. Henry was napping and I had just had a bit of a dust up with Amelia because I had some things I wanted to get done and she wanted to play. I explained I could play later, but “later” is a concept few kids have a solid grasp on.
She eventually relented and sulked off. I was cleaning up in the kitchen when I heard her gleeful laughter in the next room. I peeked around the corner and here’s what I saw:
I had tossed our dish mat down to take up to the laundry, and she was dancing on and around it, spinning around. Like Henry exuding pure tranquility under that tree, I could only describe watching her in that moment as pure joy.
Again, parental instincts kicked in and I thought, “Hey! You’re going to hurt yourself!” And “Stop playing with that dirty rag!” But I just stepped back and let her have her moment, too. Like Henry’s, it passed in a couple of minutes and she was back to playing with her toys. But her mood was lifted and frankly, so was mine.
Since it was such a nice day and we are all a little anxious for spring, we also decided to bring our back patio setup out of its basement prison and get our outdoor space ready to enjoy. The kids were excited to help out and were excellent sweepers.
Henry even swept the lawn, which I didn’t realize was a thing.
We capped the day with pizza and play. Henry decided to take my Thelonious Monk comparison a step further by showcasing his penchant for creative millinery.
Staying on that theme, I guess I could call my day of simple, zen lessons and struggling to catch up with a speedy dog, “Straight, with Chaser..”
