Running in Circles

Friday was the last day of school in Germany. My office (attic) window faces a grade school, and Friday I happened to look outside and see a young mother trying to get her playfully rebellious first grader to cross the street and follow her home.

I love subtle moments, little scenes that most people overlook or forget soon afterwards. A friend commenting on my last post said she hoped the story I told there was true. They're all true. And I'll never run out of them: watching a kid rescue a bike from the junk pile; waiting on a bag lady who enters my store; staring out my attic window as a mother herds her son across the street—these aren't stories I would make up, they're events that happen, the kind of which happen all the time. If you suspect I'm being dramatic I assure you it's just a matter of perspective. Or maybe I'm being dramatic.

The face of the mother I watched Friday was cold and impatient. Her boy ran around in circles, giggling in that insubordinate way only little boys can. The mother scolded him. She pointed authoritatively to where she wanted him to go. She chased him briefly, but soon gave up. Finally she ran out of patience and ordered him across the street under threat of punishment.

Thankfully he made a game out of obeying, by meandering his path and flapping his arms like a bird. Once the two were across the street the mother put on her business face: get the kid home, get him fed, plant him in front of the TV . . .

I see that face everywhere. I see exceptions too; some parents exude a glow that tells me they know what they're experiencing, that they're not taking it for granted. Even trivial little moments like zipping up a jacket, tying a shoe, wiping a chin. Some parents know instinctively how precious such moments are, and how fleeting. Most unfortunately don't, or at least don't show it.

I wish I'd had a video camera and could have filmed the little boy running around in circles, enjoying life for life's sake, unaware of the weighty responsibilities ahead of him, making sounds for the mere joy of hearing them come out of his mouth.

Making a game out of crossing a street.

And I wish that, twenty years from now, I could show my video to his mother, and watch the expression on her face as she relives a small moment in her past and finally understands its wonderfulness.

I see something every time I look out the window, or sit on a park bench, or wait at a bus stop. I can't get through the day without adding to my ever-growing file of reasons to write. And yes, my friend, the stories are true. If they sound too good to be true, well, thanks.

Now, hold on a second. You know you can't get away from a schmaltzy Steve post without watching a Hallmark video: