I'm walking in the cold last night. It's hovering around zero and there's that refreshing kind of crisp that's perched like a giddy child on the edge of death. The kids and I are the only people out. No one. Not even a car. Three million people in the metro area and I can't even hear wheels crunching in the distance. Just our feet. Our steps. Little moments of infinity launched into space. My oldest is up ahead. That's where he needs to be. It must be exhausting needing to be in the lead all of the time and that's when I realize I'd know that because that's me. Not in foot races. I get scorched in foot races. But in life, this restless edge to keep turning the soil before someone else does. I think I'm learning how to collaborate. Or I'm being taught. I'll expound on the profundity in a moment.
it was cold
The middle guy is right where he doesn't mind being; in the middle. He ceded the lead to the older brother years ago, and holds the secret to life: there’s some effs you don’t have to give.
My daughter is right ahead of me. A 4-foot ball of winter clothes and momentum. Her oldest brother pauses and turns around. "Where's Eliot?'' he shouts. He’s always looking out. That’s good.
She's right here, I explain. The middle brother and his sled blocked her from view. His mere presence gets him scolded. "Otto, maybe get out of the way," Quin advises.
If you want parenting cut open for a divulgent dissection, here's the heart: you're proud of your son for looking for his sister but a little concerned that he had to slay his brother to do it. There's always an edge you're standing on. Always that other shoe dropping. The good news is that, with kids, they're very quick to stomp down a reason you should be concerned. You don't need to be concerned about why you should be concerned. It's always hot and fresh and available.
And the daughter. I'm concerned about her because she needs a friend or an activity every five minutes. Tonight, she deserves some love. This is the second time today she wanted to do something outside but had to wait about an hour for a game to finish. She's been damaged by the truth. Football time is not real time. 5 minutes in the fourth is, as she shouted, "half a day with extra minutes shoved in!" It's cool that we can expand time. Now to do it without Ford yelling at us every three minutes. But we may have found another way: walking in freezing temps at 9 o' clock at night. The snow and the garb to protect us from it has pinched our flow. We're creeping along when all I can think about is my face. It's freezing. I make a vocal note about it. "My face is going to freeze off."
What I love about life is that you have no idea when you're going to get wrecked. For good or for bad. The downside is that we all know this but too often forget to live in a way that defies it. To live in a way that dances us through the inevitable instead of waiting for circumstances to do it for us. And then here it comes.
I'll rewind a bit.
"My face is going to freeze off," I cough into the cold night. It's so frustrating when it's a throwaway line that gets you schooled. I wasn't at my best, I was just making conversation. Apparently it was enough for a kid.
"You're not using all your senses," she said as we leaned into the final hundred yards to the sled hill.
"What does that mean?" I asked with an annoyed amount of curiosity.
The sphere of winter warmth waited for me to catch up. "You have smell and taste and eyes and you're only thinking about feel. If you do the others then you won't be thinking about feel."
"Wow, Eliot," I might have said out loud or in my head. "That makes sense. It's like mind over matter, huh?"
Not really.
"Dad," she clomped. The other shoe. Jesus, it’s me. "If by mind you mean thinking then it's too much mind. Maybe smell or see more."
What the hell just happened? I was stunned in a good way and so taken by the insurrection that I'd forgotten the parental cynicism of a downside.
And there wouldn't be. Everyone took care of everyone else. As they do when parents aren't parenting. They shared, they laughed, they froze and loved it. One time I was talking to my friend's mom. Her daughter was in a bit of turmoil and it was pissing everyone off. The mother said a little line that stuck across my mind. A fallen tree pausing my prattle. She said, "Jared, all you'll want one day is for your kids to be happy."
The cold is our friend. The cat and the dogs had been sharing the same small couch earlier in the day and we'd taken a hundred pictures trying to commemorate the unity. And here we were, held closer by the frigid reality. We'd had 48 hours in the house. Lucky people to be sure. A home. Food. Way too much internet. And then expelled into the night. Comfort within a quarter mile and joy exhaled on the steam of outdoor exclamations.