One More for the Journey...

She taught you how to dance before you could even walk. She would take you up in her arms and hum a soft tune for only your ears and hers to hear, and cheek to cheek you would both sway to the beat of each other’s hearts. For nine whole months she carried you in her womb as you learned her rhythm; the gift from God to two kids scared out of their minds with the task before them. The warmth of the household…

I taught you to laugh. It was clearly in you from the beginning, just waiting for an opportunity to burst forth. When it did, it sounded like a symphony of joy played in two strings. I will never forget the sound of your infant laughter. I will never forget how you used to run to me when I came home, your little feet padding away on the hardwood floor, while you urged the walker forward, oblivious to whatever obstacle that might be between us. When I would take you up in my arms, there was still plenty of dance left in you. We danced, too, you and me. The warmth of the household…

We were both there for your first steps, your first word, your first meal where you fed yourself. We have watched you grow in wisdom and in stature, and have been a part of almost every aspect of your life. We fueled your interest in music as we kept the cd player on in almost constant loop. When your interests turned to sports, we provided the opportunities and shared in the experience. When you encountered frustration, and were tempted to quit, we rallied around you and encouraged you to push through, preserver, and overcome the obstacle; it would make you a better man. The warmth of the household…

When you boarded the plane for Chicago to begin the quest for finding the college of your choice, we sent you out with a mix of pride and trepidation. We were proud that you were forging out with big plans to a big city all on your own. Our trepidation was for the same reasons that people thought we were crazy in allowing you to go by yourself.

Many times I wondered if I was doing it right, this parenting thing. You, like every other child ever born, did not come with an instruction book. But like most, I did the best I could. My mistakes were often quite obvious, and some of them have consequences still. For every time I said too much, there is a time I said too little. That delicate balance between instructing and micromanaging.

Now you have reached the time where I feel your heart has decided that you don’t need me anymore. I know this is just another stage in the parenting thing; but it is possibly the most difficult stage I have faced yet. Letting go of you, and realizing that you aren't coming back anytime soon. It brings me to tears every time I think about it.

Not Tonight, Dear...

Some things just don’t work out the way we plan them. Appointments get missed, kids get sick, cars break down. Life is, well... life. We can plan all we want (and planning ahead is a good thing!), but ultimately, we are not really in control. We can deceive ourselves into thinking that we are. We can conjure up grand illusions of being important enough or powerful enough to influence the universe, when there are times when we are hardly able to control ourselves...

I had grand plans tonight. I intended to take Candace out for dinner at our favorite little italian bistro. They have great food, a killer wine list and an ambience that screams passionate romance. It is a good place to take the woman of my dreams. We didn’t go. My hurried, rushed, plate-spinning life appeared seamless and smooth, but I was neglecting the important fine china. Instead of a night out, it was a night in... kids doing school work, fire in the hearth, a bottle of Zin breathing in the bottle and glasses...

All the great stuff out there is really not much to speak of when we really look at it. Most of those plates deserve to crash to the ground. Everything I have ever wanted is in this very room. We laughed, we cried, we listened to beautiful music from our children’s fingertips.

How is that for some scattered thoughts?