The Road Less Traveled

When I was a kid, I used to sit on my tiny front porch step and wait to see if my father would keep his promise and come to take me to his house for the weekend.  At his every invitation, I would pack my clothes, bolt for the front door, and wait for his car to come puttering down the street, past the rows of identical suburban duplexes and come to a halt in front of ours.

Sometimes I would wait and wait and wait until the phone rang and it would be my father, apologizing but cancelling our weekend plans.  The excuses were always different but similar: plans to go hunting, plans to go hunting with a friend, plans to go out of town to hunt with a friend.

But when the next phone call came, I would pack my clothes again and wait on the step for his car.  There were times that he would not let me down and I would kiss my mom, run and toss my bag into the back seat of his car, and ride with enthusiasm to his home for the weekend.

I loved my father, regardless of his let-downs, because I knew there would be days when he would be there, grinning with anticipation of the weekend.  Even though he often put his own plans and desires before mine, I knew he was glad to see me when he could.  Over the years, when we were together, he shared the best and worst parts of himself with me: his temper and his tenderness; his selfishness and his sympathy; his anger and his amusement; his contempt and his contentment.

And now, I’m clinging again to a promise.  My father has said that he plans to return to West Virginia, promises to visit often, to spend time with me and his grandchildren.  I am that young boy again, sitting on my front step, waiting.  And you know what?  I’m just as excited now as I was each time I waited on that step, patiently and enthusiastically.

Until later– “There’s no turning back now that you opened up to your mind.”

A few months ago, when Paul, a missionary friend of mine, was visiting my students to talk about Haiti, I wrote this:

 ”I keep making promises to myself that I’m not sure I can cash in on.  I want to travel out of the country not to vacation, but to make a difference.  I think I’ve been cursed with my father’s wandering spirit but my grandfather’s generous heart.  I promised Jennifer that our first trip out of the country would be together, but I don’t know how she would feel about travelling to a country that is dangerous or poor in order to help those in need.  I would want to bring the girls along, to teach them about other cultures and the importance of giving.”

I found this picture that just intensified these feelings.  It was taken in 1994 by Kevin Carter.  The caption says it all:

The more I think about it, the more I wonder if I would even have the strength to handle seeing such a situation.  But it’s good to know that I would want to help, if I could.

I know, I’m being crazy-emotional again.

Until later– “There’s no turning back now that you’ve opened up to your mind.”

I can’t believe I didn’t post about this before (or at least I don’t think I did).  The CWVWP has generously given me a digital video camera in lieu of a $100 stipend.  It is called a Flip and has a built in USB port that allows me to upload videos to my computer almost instantly.  I have already used the camera to record video writing prompts for my students as well as record my students reading some of their writing.  I’ll figure out a way to upload a few of my video prompts and post them on here for you.

Oh, and I also realized that I haven’t followed through on a few of my promises about pics of Aryanna and Bianca on their day out with daddy.  So enjoy:

When my first daughter was born, I decided I wanted to be a father who encourages discovery and curiosity.  This, of course, means that I could not lose my temper with my kids as they bombarded me with, “Why?  Why?  What’s that do?  Why?”  I’m not perfect, so sometimes this “curiosity fostering father” thing ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.  Yesterday, however, I remembered why I had made such a decision.

Not every father would risk losing a finger for his daughter, but that’s exactly what I did as I scooped a really big snapping turtle out of the ditch of water in our back yard.  He was massive and probably weighed around ten pounds.  My oldest daughter was standing at the sliding glass door, watching intently, but not daring to move.  (Her sister was unfortunately asleep.)  I carried him closer and she stared, wide-eyed and curious.  It was priceless.  I knew she was thinking how brave I was to carry something to her that could remove a digit from my hand.  For the few minutes I held him, I owned the world.

She bombarded me with questions:  “What kind of turtle is that?  Why is he so big?  Is he mean?  Do other turtles bite like that?  Why does he want to bite you?”  And let’s not forget my favorite:  “Can we keep him?”  Truth is, if I had a place to put him where he could survive happily and where I could be sure no little girl fingers could get in, I would have kept him, just for her.

But, I set him down in the grass and we watched together as he crawled slowly back to the water.  His shell could be seen for a few seconds at the top before he swam down and disappeared.

I was happy and, yes, a little proud of myself, that yet again my I got a chance to spark my daughter’s curiosity.  This weekend, I think I am going to take them back to the lake again, to walk the trail.  We usually get lucky and spot chipmunks, squirrels, and all sorts of birds that I get to name and answer bombarding questions about.  This is why I knew I wanted to be a father, why I am glad that I have the responsibility to teach my own children about their world.