We all rolled out of bed and decided to do a family snorkel, rather than Clint and I doing our usual swim without the boys. Holding Andrew's hand on the swim out, watching Clint pull Jacob in a little blow-up boat--it was "on earth as it is in heaven." We could have all been flying on deep blue, wet clouds with exotic fish-birds flitting about.
School time slipped as smoothly by as the queen angel fish had. We broke early and treated the boys to Bojangles (fried chicken), the only fast food joint on the island. Later we babysat the orphanage kids so the houseparents could have a date. After dinner, a movie and bedtime for the youngest, we played Killer (or Mafia/Murder) with the older kids (plus our oldest Andrew).
That's when I was killed. Our last round, my own son drew the Killer card, picked me off first, then successfully killed everyone else to win the game. He had to give a defense a couple times when accused and he'd say with a straight face, so persuasively, "I was just innocently playing a card game with all my fellows." I couldn't have been more proud of him and his maturing poker face.
I remember thinking while in the water that morning, It’s my turn. It’s my turn.
Our parents had their turns with their families all together, kids still young and with them. It was their turn then. And my kids will one day move on with their own lives to have their young families. It’ll be their turn then. But right now, it’s my turn.
Now. In this moment.
"History is more or less bunk. It's tradition. We don't want
tradition. We want to live in the present and the only history that's
worth a tinker's damn is the history we make today." --Henry Ford
2 comments:
Deeply moving post and so well put. Excellent.
Great post, and the quote really makes you think.
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