I love taking walks on sunny summer nights. I really do. I think since I have lost 14 pounds in the last two months, my energy level has increased, so I seek out opportunities to get extra exercise. Cyndi says I walk with more of a swagger. I'm not sure what that means or whether or not that's a good thing. Either way, I'm glad for the change in seasons.
I don't often get the opportunity to spend time alone with my kids. Since I work from home and our kids are homeschooled, I am present more than the dads who have to go to an office. Just because I am here, though, doesn't mean I get to spend quality time with the kids. During work hours, they are into their things and I am into mine.
Earlier this year, when there was snow on the ground, and we were held hostage in the house, we vowed that we would take a walk together, as a family, after dinner. It's an easy, inexpensive, healthy thing to do, and it allows us to do something that keeps us grounded: talk.
Frederic woke up this morning with a sore throat. As the day wore on, he wore out. He had a slight fever after dinner and wasn't up for the newly formed family walk. Cyndi offered to stay back with him, allowing me to have some private time with Lily and Rex the dog. Lily feels overly special when she's offered alone time with either of us. She's completely agreeable, doesn't dilly dally, and even offers to hold Rex's leash for part of the trip.
A couple of times over the past few weeks, Lily has asked if it was okay for her to call me Papa. She had been studying French with Cyndi for the better part of a year, and this is how French children address their fathers. Each time she has asked me, the tone in her voice is timid. I think she was concerned with my reaction because, when he was alive, his grandchildren called my father Papa. But I don't equate one word with the other. I see each word with the meaning each possesses, and I have no problem with her calling me this. It hasn't caught on yet. I'm still plain old dad or daddy.
Whenever we take walks, we most often ask each other questions. "What superpowers would you like to have...why are people tall...what is your favorite [fill in the blank]..." Today's walk began with Lily asking "what's your favorite drink?" Before I could answer, she picked up one of those helicopter seeds from Maple trees that are all over the place right now.
"I love these things," she said, throwing one in the air, and watching, with great enthusiasm, the rise and decent of the twirling seed. She did this a couple of more times before giving up.
This is what I love about children. They see the joy in the little things, like annoying (to me, to adults) yard waste. I was immediately hurled back to the time I was Lily's age. A time when I would stand in the front of my grandparent's A-Frame house in West Roger's Park, Chicago. A place where helicopter seeds littered the streets, thanks to the mature Maples on either side of Farwell Avenue. My brothers and I would toss the seeds into the air for what seemed like hours. Toss after toss, we'd see whose seed could hold the longest in flight. It was pure joy and simple entertainment.
I also started thinking about how smells can also bring memories back without fail. For me, it's the smell of mint leaves. Whenever my nose comes across that scent, again, I am brought back to Farwell Avenue. This time, it's the backyard, where mint would grow each year amongst the backyard weeds. We did nothing more than pick it, smell it, and throw it back on the ground, but it reminds me of my childhood. I never think of anything else when I smell fresh mint leaves. I can't. I'm not programmed otherwise.
As we continued our walk, we entered one of the newest neighborhoods in Elk Grove Village. We wanted to try a different path since it was just the two of us, so walking amongst the sprawling McManions in this section of town was new. This subdivision definitely has it's own unique flavor. The houses are huge, expertly manicured, with a built-in basketball net next to nearly every driveway. These houses were build with two stories, basements, and brick, distinguishing them from our neighborhood of mostly 30+ year old ranch homes. "Boxes built with bedrooms," I like to call them.
As we walked through the neighborhood, admiring the new scenery, I asked Lily if she wished she lived in a house like these. She looked around at them, very seriously, as if considering one of our walking questions. I understand that our 2,200 square foot home probably seems enormous to our kids. Everything seems larger than life at that age. But who wouldn't want a house like these, I think to myself.
"No," she finally said after a few minutes. "I'm happy with what we have in our lives."
Those are the words that sat with me the remainder of our walk. Words from a six year old can often surprise you. Makes me want to take another walk right now. Or just let her sentiment settle me to sleep.
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