I stand on the porch and watch.
Outside, my kids run and play in the twilight. The smallest, a sports nut, has organized an impromptu neighborhood football game.
Their stadium is the street.
Their turf, the asphalt.
Clay goes long and catches a well thrown football. Not bad for an 8-year-old.
On the driveway, my step-daughter, Sara, hovers with a covey of girls. I hear them giggle and gossip — the conversation is hushed, but if you watch closely, you’ll see her glance quickly at the tanned blond boy on the skateboard (who manages, easily, to stay just within eyesight).
In the distance I can hear that damned ice cream truck — it plays the same song over and over and over.
I like ice cream, but I really would like to deflate this guy’s tires. Thankfully, he bypasses our street.
The rain has gone — for a couple of weeks now — and it’s hot.
But my kids don’t care.
Around me, I can hear the distant hum of central air units. I say a quite prayer of thanks for the inventor of Freon.
In front of me a fat, busy bumblebee zooms back and forth looking for a flower. Beyond his pulsating wings, I watch the heat rise off the black pavement; I’m suddenly interrupted by a cold spray of water and the menacing laugh of my eldest son.
Ethan has the hose, 10 feet of shrub and several water balloons as his defense. It looks like he’s planning a full scale, frontal attack.
I’ll check my wrath for now.
I’ll get him later when he goes back outside to retrieve a lost shoe. Little does he know I’ve managed to scam two full, buxom water balloons.
Both have his name on them.
A breeze stirs, rearranging the dust from and irritating the tomcat snoozing in the bushes below me.
Hoover, the feline, tolerates few interruptions. He’ll hiss and yowl, but eventually, he’ll return to the shade the shrub and his regularly scheduled nap.
I turn to go back into the house just as a mammoth water balloon explodes inches from my head.
Across the yard, my son laughs.
His time in parental purgatory has increased; but he doesn’t know that now.
Right now his day is filled with football, gossip, soaking his old man with water baloons and fun.
My wife meets me at the door; her ample, pregnant belly announcing her arrival.
Inside it’s cool and dark.
Karen brings me a beautiful smile and large glass of ice-cold water.
I touch her belly and feel the warmth from another soul.
Together we stand quietly — almost reverently — and watch as our kids scamper and play — they are oblivious to any problems, concerns or issues.
And for a few minutes, our world is at peace — bathed in the glow of a warm Oklahoma sun and the knowledge that summer doesn’t officially end until Sept. 21.
Outside, my kids run and play in the twilight. The smallest, a sports nut, has organized an impromptu neighborhood football game.
Their stadium is the street.
Their turf, the asphalt.
Clay goes long and catches a well thrown football. Not bad for an 8-year-old.
On the driveway, my step-daughter, Sara, hovers with a covey of girls. I hear them giggle and gossip — the conversation is hushed, but if you watch closely, you’ll see her glance quickly at the tanned blond boy on the skateboard (who manages, easily, to stay just within eyesight).
In the distance I can hear that damned ice cream truck — it plays the same song over and over and over.
I like ice cream, but I really would like to deflate this guy’s tires. Thankfully, he bypasses our street.
The rain has gone — for a couple of weeks now — and it’s hot.
But my kids don’t care.
Around me, I can hear the distant hum of central air units. I say a quite prayer of thanks for the inventor of Freon.
In front of me a fat, busy bumblebee zooms back and forth looking for a flower. Beyond his pulsating wings, I watch the heat rise off the black pavement; I’m suddenly interrupted by a cold spray of water and the menacing laugh of my eldest son.
Ethan has the hose, 10 feet of shrub and several water balloons as his defense. It looks like he’s planning a full scale, frontal attack.
I’ll check my wrath for now.
I’ll get him later when he goes back outside to retrieve a lost shoe. Little does he know I’ve managed to scam two full, buxom water balloons.
Both have his name on them.
A breeze stirs, rearranging the dust from and irritating the tomcat snoozing in the bushes below me.
Hoover, the feline, tolerates few interruptions. He’ll hiss and yowl, but eventually, he’ll return to the shade the shrub and his regularly scheduled nap.
I turn to go back into the house just as a mammoth water balloon explodes inches from my head.
Across the yard, my son laughs.
His time in parental purgatory has increased; but he doesn’t know that now.
Right now his day is filled with football, gossip, soaking his old man with water baloons and fun.
My wife meets me at the door; her ample, pregnant belly announcing her arrival.
Inside it’s cool and dark.
Karen brings me a beautiful smile and large glass of ice-cold water.
I touch her belly and feel the warmth from another soul.
Together we stand quietly — almost reverently — and watch as our kids scamper and play — they are oblivious to any problems, concerns or issues.
And for a few minutes, our world is at peace — bathed in the glow of a warm Oklahoma sun and the knowledge that summer doesn’t officially end until Sept. 21.
Comments
I gotta say I love the way you write. I haven't felt like this in reading for quite a while now (mostly because I read books that borderline on text books). It is quite refreshing. Keep it up.
Look forward to seeing you soon!
Peace be with you.
+ OD