A Patch of Forest

We’re in the car on our way back from the beach out at Orient Point. The state park at the end of the island is beautiful, kid friendly, and one of our favorite places to go as a family. It’s a three hour trip, usually with a stop on the way for coffee/tea. Then we eat and spend the afternoon on the beach, playing at the three playgrounds, swimming in the calm waters if the water’s warm enough (it’s not … yet) and hiking on a nature trail. What a beautiful day today was too and our first time out to Orient this year. By the time we get to Riverhead, I’m stoked on green tea to keep me awake and the sun is just starting to set.

M-ito pipes in from the back seat. “When all three of us have jobs and we’ve got a lot of money we can buy a patch of forest somewhere and live there. Or maybe two trees, big ones. Or … we could buy a log for the gerbils. They would like that.”

“Do we all have to work?” Mom-ita asks from next to me in the front seat.

“Yes,” M-ito replies. “Unless you don’t want to. Then it’s okay. Dad-dito and I can work.”

I nod and hit the accelerator as we climb up the LIE ramp and face into the setting sun.

Sleeping Beauty

M-ito’s ballet recital, part of an after school dance program at his school, was beautiful. His dance lasted all of six minutes – if that. He stood up there so proud and graceful and so serious about his dance. I was so proud of him. A father videotaping from the floor next to me looked up at me when I glanced his way from my seat and he smiled. “I got tears too,” he said. I rubbed my eyes, wiped them dry, so I could watch the rest of the show. I didn’t think my heart could swell to any greater size this afternoon when I saw him standing so still in first position, waiting for the music to begin.

A Piece of the Savanna

M-ito had been alseep for a good hour when I moved him from our bed to his bed last night. He stirred a little then found a comfortable place on his pillow, rolled onto his side and drew his knees up towards his chest. Then he raised a hand to his eyes, as if they itched and he opened them a little. I thought he was awake.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Dad-dito?” he said.

“Go back to sleep,” I said.

“Can you get me something?”

“Sure. What do you need?” I figured he wanted a glass of water and I had to stop myself from getting up before he told me.

“Can you bring me back a piece of the savanna?”

“The savanna? Sure,” I said.

He nodded as he turned over and closed his eyes completely, a slight smile creasing his lips.

Go back to your savanna and roam with the wild animals, I thought, and kissed him good night.

George W. Bush

I watched M-ito in kindergarten class today. I brought our gerbils in for show and tell, our four remaining fur-balls, Curly, Blackie, Movie, and Fari. They were a hit, with M-ito answering questions about their “Rodent background” like a pro from Animal Planet. The gerbils and I sat in the back of the room together after their presentation and watched as the other kids brought in and talked about their show and tell with M-ito’s teacher presiding, skillfully prodding with questions, probing with a look here and a nod there until the items (a stuffed animal bunny, a castle from a game, a gameboy, a Mach 5 Speed Racer toy from McDonalds) had been examined from all angles. One item was a new five dollar bill. When the teacher asked the kids what Abraham Lincoln was famous for, M-ito raised his hand.

“He freed the slaves.”

“Good answer, M-ito.”

My son smiled proudly as two others added the Civil War and log cabins to his biography.

The teacher then talked about the Lincoln memorial on the back of the bill and said, “Famous leaders sometimes have statues made of them. Abraham Lincoln’s statue is in Washington D.C. and it looks like this,” she pointed to the back of the five dollar bill. “Who else is a famous leader who has had a statue made of him?”

“George Washington,” a boy said. 

“Thomas Jefferson,” a girl added. 

“George Bush?” a third asked tentatively.

The teacher smiled and hesitated a moment before she shook her head. “I don’t think he’s going to get a statue made of him.” Then she moved on to Martin Luther King. I had to step out of the classroom to stop myself from laughing.

Sitting on the Bench

I never used to sit on the bench. Oh, sure in baseball when I was 8 and couldn’t catch a ball if my life depended upon it, and they stuck me in right field only when the coach had to play me, as he had to play all his players at least three innings – and I only played three innings a game for a long time until I had the miracle happen and I caught a ball – well… I sat on the bench. But with M-ito, I have always been up and playing with him, watching him to make sure he didn’t fall, chasing him up and down the playground structures, sliding down the poles before him and creating a safe net for him to fall into. I have felt the change happening. I’ve felt the pull of the bench with my tired bones. It’s been happening a little bit at a time all year. Less, “Dad-dito can you play with me,” and more, “Stay here.”

Then, a few days ago I was at the park with him and a few of his kindergarten friends – one of our friends was watching M-ito and I met them there after I finished work. I said hello to my son with a wave when I arrived and he waved back but went right back to chasing his friends. I sat on the bench with two of M-ito’s friend’s moms and talked to them with one eye peeled for M-ito.

When the two friends left half an hour later and it was only M-ito and me and another friend with a babysitter, I got up to play a little with him. M-ito directed me back to the bench.

“Can I play a little longer?” he asked me.

“Sure,” I said, sitting back down.

He guided me there as if to say, You sit there and watch.

I sat back down and another dad sat down next to me. He was holding an infant, maybe eight months old, in his arms, a bit uncomfortably. He was watching an older child from there and only barely aware of the bundle in his arms. I nodded to him. He didn’t notice. 

M-ito will still ask me to play with him when no other kids are around. But we’ve definitely turned a corner. I’m a dad-dito who is no longer needed as a full-time play thing, when friends are around. I’m both sad and relieved, at the same time. Sad, because an era has passed and I feel that loss deeply. Relieved, because so many times at the park I just want to sit down and talk to other parents for a little while – talk and rest – and now I can. What a strange mix of emotions to be filled with while my little boy plays and grows.