Little m Long a

The leaves have started in an ever so subtle way to change their colors and break free from the branches that have sustained their tiny lives since the spring when they blossomed forth.  No longer are my children able to walk silently through the yard as now leaves crunch loudly beneath their feet.  OK, so my kids, to the best of my recollection, have never walked silently through the yard.  Remember that scene in Stripes when the platoon is running like banshees through the woods as they tackle the confidence course.  That is my kids in the yard at all times.  The piles of leaves grow larger with each passing day. Happens every year.  I love this time of year for the inevitable changing of the season is not only visible, but it is audible and tangible.  You can even smell fall in the air as the cooler air undoubtedly spurs the weekend bonfires and burning leaf piles.  Yes, the season is changing and with summer’s passing I am also able to joyfully mark another equally admirable feature of the fall season.

My wife is celebrating her birthday today, September 21.  I have spent the past several months giving you, dear reader, some insight into who I am and who my kids are.  I have not been very divulging with information about my wife but rest assured she is without a doubt the single most important person in the world to me.  She is a fabulous mother and an extraordinary wife.  She is my best friend and my limited ability at self expression in no manner does justice to the true and genuine love that I feel for her.

So on this day I thought I would give you just the slightest bit of insight, an introduction if you will to the most amazing person I know.  Read carefully and you’ll know how many candles to light in her honor.

immeasurable passion relentless forgiving Zoë fun loving football fanatic educator healer sister mother wife friend Zane daughter adventurous strong caring compassionate driven wild Zia happy meticulous carefree spontaneous surprising inspiring calming Zander reassuring supportive giving example faithful devout advocate Zella whimsical thankful artistic bold soft powerful loved

Happy Birthday, Honey.  I Love You!!

So I am on my way to the post office to mail a letter.  Seems pretty insignificant, right?  Well, in the grand scheme of things it probably is but I’m gonna do it anyway.  You see, I grew up in the era of the letter.  If someone wronged you in any way, send a letter. You’re not happy with the local tv station because during a commercial break of your kids favorite Winnie the Pooh cartoon they had the audacity to air a douche advertisement and now your precious tot is scarred for life?  Send a letter.  You didn’t like the way you were treated at Che Snobs?  Send a letter.  The guy at the service station, you know the one, seems familiar like you went to grade school together but can’t recall seeing him in high school. It’s because he was never there.  He spent his formative years hanging out behind the Tic Toc smoking weed laughing at all of the idiots wiling away their days slaving in the man’s schoolhouse.  Well, now he’s second in line for the next promotion to oil change guy and while dreaming of his better days to come he didn’t clean your windshield before topping off the tank in the full service line and you’re mad as hell….send a letter.  Yes, friends, the letter is powerful.  In fact, you want better service because you feel you’re about to be wronged?  Threaten to send a letter.  The mere mention of, “I’m gonna send a letter” will no doubt send any attendant scurrying into action riddled with the fear of the consequences that surely follows receipt of the letter.

Your next question is probably, and rightly so, what’s got you riled?  Why are you sending the letter and to whom are you sending it?  All good questions and I’ll answer them in due time.  But first, a bit of preface.  A few days ago Zane and I had just picked up Zoë from school and we were beginning our drive homeward. As is the norm I usually start the ride home by posing the same question, “So what did you learn in school today?”  I didn’t get the chance that day as Zoë beat me to the punch.

Dad…

Yes, Zoë. 

Did you know, that a lot of years ago..a whole lot, that there was an airplane that flew into a building?

Really?

Yeh.  And a bunch of people died……we prayed for them today.

And the clouds parted to cast a true shadow.  I hadn’t even looked at a calendar so as usual I was totally oblivious to the world going on around me.  September 11.  Wow! Has it really been six years?  Everyone has a where were you when moment.  I can still vividly recall that morning six years ago when my wife called me from work to tell me what was going on.  I spent the day tying to absorb the reality of what was happening almost in a stupor. My focus shifted from trying to find a rational explanation for myself to how in the world was I going to explain this to my daughter.  My eight month old daughter playing on the floor in front of the television totally oblivious to the horrors playing out on the screen before her.  Oh, it’s come up in conversation from time to time but somehow I’ve been able to sidestep the main issues and quickly shift the conversation to more pleasing topics like princesses or ponies or ice cream.

Our drive home was going to be very interesting.  Very interesting, indeed for we hadn’t even made it out of the parking lot and one of my great fears as a parent was becoming reality.  I was no longer able to shield my children from the fact that the world is sometimes a harsh and uninviting place.  Chinks becoming visible in the armored bubble I have been working so hard to surround them with.  I should count myself as lucky for at least I made it six years.  Some kids get a whole six minutes before having to face such pain.  I made a decision to stop avoiding and try in some small way to face the issue. Then in that ever so, what was I thinking way of mine I muttered just audibly enough, “Yeh, it was sad and terrible day.  It’s one of the main reasons we’re at war today.”

We’re at war??  Why?

Well, it’s because…umm…

OK.  So I suck at harsh reality.  I couldn’t do it.  I mumbled something else about terrorists and Iraq and oil but nothing comprehensible to a six and five year old.  Hell I’m 42 and I can’t comprehend it.  Really! How did we get in this mess?  Let’s see, we’re going to retaliate against the people responsible for the events of September 11.  That went well.  And oh, just next door there is this Iraq place and they have amassed huge quantities of weapons that they may use against us so we had better nip that little situation in the bud while we’re over there right?  Oh, no weapons?  Well, the people were just begging for us to come in there and rid them of their cruel dictator and implement our own form of democracy.  Oh, they didn’t call us for help?

Let’s just suffice it to say the kids were pretty upset and my inadequacies as a comforting father were becoming apparent. Thank God my wife was home when we arrived.  She is way more articulate than me and was able to at least give the kids some perspective. And a plan.  You see, she, too is from the letter era.  She also hails from all things bold and gutsy and suggested to my kids that if they really wanted to do something about this terrible war go to the source, the single person seemingly responsible for our current dismal situation.  They should write a letter….to the president of the United States.

I’m cynical.  I’ve never written a letter and have long stopped believing it’s power.  Maybe it’s just a sad testament to the inevitable wearing away at my belief in the system as pure and just.  I do however, believe in hope and I believe that my children should always, always have hope.  Hope that their actions do and can make a difference in the world around them.  So my kids sat down on the afternoon of September 11 and wrote a letter to the president of the United States asking him to please end this war.  Do I believe that after reading the simple pleas of a 5 and 6 year old boy and girl that Mr. Bush will call off the hounds?  No, I do not.  But my kids do.  My prayer is that one day soon, very soon our guys will be coming home for good.  And when they do, I’ll be able to say to my son, “You see, he got your letter.”

Lagniappe:  Fiction Plane–Death Machine

Go to the source. Contact the White House with your concerns.