the boy | matching tracksuits

Teaching the Next Generation

Saturday 15 December 2012 | 0 Comments

It's how knowledge has always been transferred: generation to generation. Granted, written and electronic communication seems somehow to supersede the oral tradition, but we learn best by doing -- always have, always will.

My father taught me many things I use today by showing me how to do it, and he continues to do so. Whenever I'm messing with the electric system of our house, I always ask him to come over to sit guard and make sure he stops me before I do anything stupid.

It was my father-in-law, though, who taught me how to smoke meat, who taught me how to prepare the brine, rub down the meat with spices, keep the flame low but sufficiently hot, how to treat the meat with care afterward.

Perhaps I'll be closing the generational gap with the Boy.

The Dog Next Door

Wednesday 12 December 2012 | 0 Comments

The plan was simple: it was Sunday; the Girl and the Boy had been inside most of the day; there was still a bit of light left and some power in our small camera's battery -- a walk seemed in order. We reached to top of the driveway and it became immediately obvious that the walk wouldn't occur.

It had nothing to do with the impromptu photo session; the weather wasn't a factor; the Girl wasn't complaining that she was too tired. No, nothing as complicated as any of that. It was simply that Max, the neighbor's dog, was out, taking his owner for a walk. Max would make the perfect companion for L: they're both hyper, hyper, hyper, to the point of carelessness and frustration.

And so they leaped and ran, rolled and barked (yes, both of them), and the walk never got any further. I stood chatting with our neighbor, a retired gentleman who seems more like a third grandfather to L at times than anything else, and we both remarked at how quickly both the kids are growing.

"We'll be heading out to Missouri," he said as the conversation drew to a close, "to spend Christmas with our son and his family." And I realized again -- how many times will I realize this? probably countless -- that within two blinks, we'll be saying the same thing about L and/or E.

"We'll be heading out to X to spend Christmas with our daughter and her family. Our son and his family are supposed to meet us there as well," I'll tell our neighbor, asking him to keep an eye on our place.

And marveling as he turns to walk away at how recently I did the same.

All photos by the Girl.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son…”

Saturday 08 December 2012 | 2 Comments

There are some things one really shouldn't put off. Yet sometimes these are also things that one wants to share with the wider family. When those two come into conflict, one waits. But not forever...

And so on a Saturday morning, friends and family gather to welcome the Boy into the Church.

Friends old, family, friends new, baby-sitters -- they all come together to share in a small moment of incredible importance. Yet the focus of the day slept through the most significant moment of his life thus far.

Yet once it was over, and the godparents were ready to hold the Boy,

and the grandparents were ready to hold the Boy, and everyone was ready to hold him,

he woke. After all, there was the party to come, and one can't sleep through one's own baptism party. Well, at least in theory.

The Day Before

Friday 07 December 2012 | 0 Comments

So much done; so much to do.

Cooking, cooking, cooking.

And a bath.

Giving

Wednesday 05 December 2012 | 0 Comments

The Girl has surprised us of late with her generosity, spending her own money to by a copy of her favorite non-fiction book — she’s always keen to point out that it’s non-fiction — for her friend. She continued today, buying presents for a handful of friends and family from the school Gingerbread House Gift Shop (I guess a Christmas time fundraiser).

When we returned home, she was eager to dig out the wrapping paper and begin layering sheet after sheet on the gifts.

The Boy, on the other hand, is still exploring the more basic giving: the gift of joy.

Attention

Tuesday 04 December 2012 | 1 Comment

The Boy now focuses his attention, follows objects of interest, and consequently loses interest. Unless it’s food.

The other day, I was getting ready to feed him his soup. It was still a bit too hot, though, so I set it to the side of his chair and turned my attention to the tea bag that was making my cup of tea a dangerously unsavory mess. The Boy, not to be distracted, followed his food. And stared for a good long time.

More From Leaves

Wednesday 28 November 2012 | 0 Comments

Guests

Tuesday 27 November 2012 | 0 Comments

Aunt L, passing through on her way back home in Tennessee, stopped by for a visit. It was the first time she’d met the Boy, but certainly not the first time she’d chatted with the Girl.

This was quickly obvious as the Girl began monopolizing Aunt L’s attention. “Look at this!” became the common refrain, which I suppose is to be expected of a five-year-old.

Papa, of course, was preoccupied with the Boy.

Up the Street

Sunday 25 November 2012 | 0 Comments

I grew up in a closed environment, literally. There was one way in or out of our housing subdivision, a fact that was of great solace to my mother as I was growing up: now strangers just “passing through.” And so I had almost complete freedom to go wherever I wanted in our neighborhood while growing up.

The only rule was that I had to be able to hear Dad whistle and get back within a reasonable amount of time.

I wish we lived in such a neighborhood now, for every time the Girl is outside playing alone, I’m a little edgy. It’s unlikely anyone would be just “passing through,” and it’s unlikely that anything would happen to her. Yet Amber Alerts, urban legend, and the Jaycee Lee Dugard case make a slightly paranoid father like me more so.

And so when she heads up the street to visit a friend, I stand at the end of our driveway and watch her head up. The friend’s parents do the same when he (or they) come back down to our place. It’s a simple enough matter, but I watch her bouncing up the street and realize, not for the first or last time, that she’s growing up, that she’s journeying from home and toward independence with a rapidity I’d been warned about but doubted for myself. And it will all repeat itself with the Boy, but I’ll be more prepared by then. I hope.