Minor Moments of Grace and Beauty

Once in a while magic happens so quietly and with so little fanfare that we fail to enjoy it.  It's the hot, hot of the summer and right now the days are too humid and stifling to be outside until the evening.  On these days you have to wait until the sun sits low on the horizon to go outside. At that time of day, the birds still chirp and sing and the cicadas make their noises mixed with sounds of kids playing down the street and mowers running off in the distance. Those are the comfortable sounds of a suburban summer.  

Our house sits on a small pond and we built a patio so that we can sit outside and enjoy the sun backlighting the trees on summer nights. There is just enough lawn where the kids could play football and soccer when they were little - or better yet, set up the Slip-n-Slide for some real fun.  Somehow, taking a moment to sit outside seems like a luxury, and we do not do it often enough.  Yet the other night, there we were, Lisa and I just sitting and talking, with our faithful dog, Lucie, at our feet.

Lisa saw it first. It looked like Odin, our neighbors Doberman Pincher.  I was walking out in the trees and shrubs between the pond and the lawn. I came into the open. It was a young deer.  Lucie, sat up and stared. Lisa and I went quiet. We quietly ordered Lucie to "Stay" since she wasn't on a leash and loves to chase deer when she can.  The deer stopped, stood, and stared back at us.  Maybe it was the first-time seeing humans and a canine just doing nothing. It seemed neither intimidated nor concerned with seeing us, but still kept its eyes on us.  It bent down and nibbled some long blades of grass and poked around the bird feeder.  

It walked out of the wood line and onto the yard - maybe thirty feet away.  We. All. Just. Froze.  The moment seemed to go on for minutes. It stood there in the warm summer air at dusk. Our souls swelled a little, just caught in that special place of something so unique that seemed to be just for us.  

Then it turned and walked further down the pond.  

Sometimes life is about the value of small things.

Before and After

  

Grant is the Marilyn Munster of the Brown Family. He is smart, good looking, and funny but different from the rest of us because of his hair. We know that he gets grief from the Middle School crowd, Neil Peart's lyrics from Subdivisions playing in my head, "conform or be cast out," but his strength is being different from the rest of the pack.  

I love, love, love Grant's hair. The genetic roulette landed on red for him; the result of red heads on both sides of his parents - although neither one of us are Gingers. He gets a lot of complements, especially from women - something that will work in his favor down the road.

While his brother looks good with shorter hair, Grant has always looked good with long, slightly unkempt hair. A mop.  Grant keeps is neat and brushed but ten minutes after he does that, it's a mess again. It seemed to fit his personality somehow. 

On the second to last day of 6th Grade, Grant decided to get a haircut. Not a trim, keeping the back long and the hair out of his eyes, but a dramatic new look.  He went in looking like a boy and came out a young man. The change, for me as a parent, was profound. He looked like he was more ready to enter High School than 7th Grade. I know I will get used to the new look in time, but for now I keep asking myself, "who is that guy?!"

He is simply awesome. 

 

Rule: Never Coach Your Kids

I have had a general rule in my life that I have maintained even before I had children; never coach the kids.  To be clear, this is my rule only. I do not impose this rule on other parents who nobly pick up the mantle of "Coach" and take their offspring and a dozen other kids into the arena of youth sports.

I simply do not have the temperament to be a coach. I have too much Army in me and doubt I have the ability not to become a raging A-hole.  When I was an ROTC instructor, that temperament suited me, the Army, and my Cadets very well.  Last month I ran into one of my former students, a Cadet from the first year I instructed Army ROTC.  He is married now with kids who are the boys ageish. He is a PhD and way up in his state's secondary education system.  We shared stories about that year - stories about Captain Brown. Lisa, incredulous that I was ever that mean, was regaled with stories that indicated that I may have caused another human being PTSD.

I really enjoy watching the kids engage in sports. TJ runs and I stand in the fourth turn cheering him on. Grant plays volleyball and has a wicked serve that most kids can't return.  But I can feel that urge to want to yell Grant's team when they are clearly not working together as a unit, or when individuals make the same mistakes. I imagine having to restrain myself from yelling at a bunch of 12- and 13-year-olds, and then punishing them with Front-Back-Gos until I get tired.  

I did coach on the town's Cross Country team. That consisted of a bunch of Middle School aged kids who ran for 40 minutes in various drills; Ultimate Frisbee, sprints, Last Man Up drills, etc. I was easy to coach because with running you generally get better the more you run. I even had TJ on the team! I would still get irritated if I saw kids holding back or not running to their potential, but for the most part it was a good experience.  

I don't want to steal the fun of playing by being that parent who over-coaches their child from the official sidelines. After a track meet or volleyball game that didn't go very well it is a lot easier when all you have to say is "better luck next time, buddy."