I’m on the rails-to-trails path that winds around the township. Halfway into a long walk, I’ve worked up a good sweat on a hot morning. These days I’ve even stopped wearing ear buds to ease informational distraction in order to rewire the connections in my crusty old brain so I might conjure up interesting ideas out of nothing. Hey, it could happen.
Ahead of me is a man, early thirties maybe, and his very young son. They hold hands and walk slowly, Dad slowing his pace so his boy can keep up. Dad’s got a scruffy growth of beard and looks like he just dragged himself out of bed. I am sure he doesn’t want to be on a walk in this heat. I soon learn that I am wrong.
They are fifty feet ahead of me and I am gaining quickly. (Got to keep my pace up; hold off becoming an old man for as long as possible.) I’m close enough to hear them talking. Dad is asking his boy about his letters and spelling.
Closer now, just fifteen feet behind them. The boy’s got his ABCs down — not one stumble. Dad prompts him to spell a short word and the boy’s answer is close but no cigar. Dad says, “Pretty good. You’re close. You’ll know even more by the time you get to kindergarten. You’re going to be all set.”
I can’t hear the boy’s response, but I’ve got to give him his props. One thing he’s not complaining about is his dad, out here in the stiflingly-humid eighty-seven degree heat, trying to teach him stuff. If I was him I’d be thinking, Really, Dad? You’re quizzing me? I’m on vacation! But that’s me projecting long-ago memories of my distaste of school on this young boy who’s got no idea what’s coming. As do us all.
Now, I’m next to them — caught in that awkward slow motion passing-on-the-left dance walkers do on a narrow path. The young father nods at me, says good morning. I nod and say hi back. A few seconds later and they are in the rear view … but I can still hear their conversation. The boy says he likes something. I can’t quite make out what it is that he likes — but Dad capitalizes on the boy’s interest.
Dad says, “How about that word? ‘Like.’ How do you think you spell ‘Like’?”
The boy replies — good and loud this time. “L-I-K-E.”
“That’s right!” Dad answers with reserved cool-dad enthusiasm. “Nice one.”
After a pause, the boy says, “I like you, Dad.” And I melt a little.
Dad keeps his cool-dad persona and answers, “You know what? I like you too.” He’s got to be melting inside, too. Or maybe it’s only me … a sentimental retired dude ruminating on the good things in life. Either that or oncoming heat stroke. It’s hot out here.
This is a sliver in a lifetime. A moment that this father might tuck away in a safe spot — to be brought out who-knows-how-many years later — maybe to lift his spirits, or to confirm that even though, like every parent, he was basically learning as he went along, and every once and a while he got it right.
So full marks to the dad who got his boy out of the house on a maybe-not-so-stealthy mission: Kindergarten is two months away, son. Let’s you and I enjoy this hot summer morning as best we can, and while we’re at it, let’s have a man-to-man chat about what’s ahead. Yeah, it might be scary, but I’m going to do what I can to make it easier for you.
Plus … bonus points … we like each other.
Love it!!!
David, as always, great insight. Walking in nature, ditching the earbuds, and strolling in the solitude of the moment. This has allowed you to gain focus on a brief slice of time between a father and a son. This moment has much deeper meaning, as you have noted, for the relationship of the pair. This moment will NOT be lost in time but will be remembered and hopefully be repeated throughout their lives.
Me too! We just got back from our walk before it gets hot here. Didn’t get to see any evocative interactions. Maybe tomorrow.
It’s great to have another David Beedle post! And kind of amazing. I can’t think back on ever overhearing something like that, with that kind of simple depth. Thanks!!
Lovely, David. I do enjoy your writing very much.
Nicely written David. Choked this old Dad up, I was just thinking the other morning did I do ok with my two. I know the answer — the reminder is those moments like these we remember.
My eyes welled up with tears reading your post. You were in the right place, at the right time, to hear such a tender and sweet moment between this father and son. They are building a beautiful bond. Even though you had shared the story when you came home from your walk, I still was misty reading about this moment. As parents you can only hope that your love shines through.