Looking Ahead to Better See the Present

This morning I read a friend's blog and he was writing about how we, as adults, sometimes fail to recognize the wonder and significance of everyday moments because we become entangled by our own worries and responsibilities. His point was that children rarely suffer from this. They are more than able to become genuinely excited over the smallest of things.

I connected with this because I spent much of this past summer reflecting on parenthood and my all-too-frequent inability to enjoy every moment. I worried that I spend too much time worrying about the kids (trying to guide them into becoming compassionate adults) or wishing away time ("I'll be glad when they're out of diapers", etc) to stop and just enjoy the wonderful times we have together. Why can't I stop and exclaim, as Tim quoted in his blog, that "Today is the best day of my life!"?

Thinking ahead to a time when the kids are grown and gone, I wrote a poem last June about how I might regret this and wish I could return to these days to talk about silly things at dinner or hear the sound of infectious giggles during a tickling attack. Even though the poem is purely in draft form (it's been sitting unfinished for months now just waiting for the right time to finish and revise) I'm going to go ahead and share it because although the craft is sloppy the theme is dead on.



The Vision is This

Me
sitting at the breakfast table
overlooking a flawless green backyard
landscaped with flowers, bushes, and trees
Large stones, carefully placed, conceal the lasting injuries
of a play set from years ago

I sit inside
surrounded by walls and tables
filled over the years
with photographs
Birthday parties, summer vacations
Proms, graduations
Weddings

Absent now
is the sound of jubilant feet
barreling down the stairs,
squeezing through the front door -
screams of delight heading out
to find a new day’s adventure

I get up to look
at all the photographs
and I see faces sculpted into say cheese smiles
I’m reminded now
of the big events that serve as markers
along the timeline of our lives
But what I want most are the details
that have long gone silent

The house is growing dark
and there are chores to be done
Yet, I stand looking at each photograph
searching for the small moments
I thought I would always remember -
but that I soon forgot

The dinner conversations,
the things that made us giggle
uncontrollably
just before bedtime,
the weight of a tiny hand
in mine

But the photographs are empty
They show only
what is at the surface;
Unable to conjure up that
which is most missed


Childish Adult (Dad)