This morning, we lined the kids up against the back door with their backpacks on. My first grader, a literalist if there ever was one, noted correctly that his backpack was empty and he should not have to wear it. Once his mother told him (truthfully) that there were a few pieces of paper in it, he agreed to the impromptu photo shoot and the picture was taken. My three sons, all who were once little, tiny and dainty, were standing there like stair-stepped clones of their mother. The height fairy had come and sprinkled them with height dust. I smiled, looking at their handsome faces and thought of how quickly time was passing. It’s almost passing as quickly as they are growing. Almost.
It’s August 7th and they are back in school. Next year they will start closer to Labor Day. That’s the way it was when I was a kid (back when we were drawing on cave walls in art class). But we also got out in June. That, if you will pardon my French, sucked. It’s darned if you do, darned if you don’t. But just for the mere fact that they won’t have to ride on the Easy Bake Oven School Bus when it is this hot for as long, I’m OK with them starting closer to September.
I fell asleep on the couch last night and had some freaky dreams. One involved death (not to be morbid — I have those kind of dreams since my cancer a few years ago.) I woke up at 4:59 a.m. and leapt out of bed. I ran 3.10 miles in the soggy humid air. I hurt but felt alive. It has been a tough couple of weeks and I guess I do feel particularly mortal. It could be a mid-life crisis, but I doubt it. I have no urge to go buy a red Corvette or seek a trophy wife. I know if I did something that stupid, I would have bigger problems (involving that death dream I was talking about.)
No, my true trophy wife Amy was grumpily trying to herd the kids out the door and get herself ready for her first day of school at the same time The dog was attacking my youngest son’s shoe. The older boys were busily talking about how exciting the new year will be. Another school year has started. Another year has passed. My boys are taller. My wife is prettier. I’m a little bit older. And for reasons I can’t quite explain, I feel at peace.
I love your writing, Marshall, and often recommend you as a speaker. May God Bless you and your family.
Thank you.