“I want to read this book!” Zander emphatically stated his position to Maura. “How do you read?”
“Well, Zander. You have to sound out the letters and put them together. Ask your brother Zane how he learned to read.”
“Zane, how did you read?” he asked in his most innocent little boy voice.
“Uhm. Well.. you just…”
There’s something uplifting about watching a hippie hi-five strangers. You can’t help but smile, maybe even laugh out loud. I suppose the end is achieved, at least in their minds, good karma spreads.
Karmic Hi-Five
We went to ComFest yesterday. Set up camp under a nice shady tree and chilled with about 10 or 12 thousand other people looking to do the same. About 30 yards from us a small band of merry parked themselves by the sidewalk, a main corridor to all places Fest, and simply hi-fived every single person that passed them by. For over 2 hours! It was one of the coolest things I saw all day.
As ComFest stories go, that would have been a sufficient one to bring back with us. The take-home message being that being good to other people is a good thing to do. It makes them happy.
The story, however, will forever pale in comparison to the reason we will always remember this year’s ComFest.
The Andy Shaw Band was performing on the Gazebo Stage in a pretty decent time slot. We had hung around to see them as my wife is related — cousin?, uncle? — something like that. Anyway, towards the end of the set Maura and her sister took Zoë and Zane down to the stage for a closer look. I hung back with my brother-in-law and the rest of my brood.
When the set finished (about 2 songs later) Maura and the kids made their way back to our little camp and Zoë and Zane began regaling us with terms like cool and awesome. Somewhere in the distance over the PA we heard, maybe a bit muffled, “We’ve got a little boy named Sam and he’s looking for his mommy. Can Maura please return to the stage.”
I looked at Maura and said, “they just called your name.” I hadn’t really caught the beginning of the message and thought that maybe her cousin was calling her back to the stage to talk.
Maura responded, “Not me. Some other idiot has lost their kid. Mine are all accounted for. Zoë… Zane… Zella… Zia… —–WHERE’S ZANDER!!!”
The message on the PA repeated quite more clearly this time, “Could Maura please return to the stage to get ZANDER.”
Holy crap, I lost my son!!!!
He literally must have followed Maura to the stage when they left earlier because I never noticed him gone. I counted Zella and Zia several times but never missed Zander.
I quickly ran through the crowds to the stage where Zander was stood in the middle of about 12 volunteers with the biggest grin I have ever seen on his face, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving. He waved and pointed at me when he saw me and simply said, “hey Dad.”
He was mum on how and when he had actually slipped away revealing only that he was looking for mom. I’d like to say I was panic stricken and frantic, sick at the thought of my child having vanished during those minutes he was missing. I’d like to, but the sad reality is that I hadn’t even realized he was gone. (Those points for Parent of the Year keep piling up, people and I think with this one I’ve clearly outdistanced myself from the rest of the pack.)
As I made my way back through the crowds another announcement was made on the PA. “It’s OK everyone, Zander’s dad got him.” I waved as the crowd cheered.
I thought back to earlier in the afternoon, to a hi-five from a hippie and how grateful I now was for the good karma he had spread my way.
Thanks, Man. I Needed That!
The boy sings constantly.
Zander.
He sings Incessantly. Little tunes he makes up in his head or a phrase he might pick up from a song on the radio that he puts on an endless loop. He’ll sing, content in his own little world, completely oblivious to what’s going on around him . Often times he will sing as he’s engaged in other activities completely unaware that he’s doing it.
It’s an endearing trait. When it’s not totally grating on my nerves, that is. But mostly, it’s endearing.
This afternoon as I was straightening up in the living room Zander entered singing one of his little songs. I couldn’t quite make out what he was singing — nothing unusual — but the tune was catchy. This one was a bit different though as it seemed a tad forced and he kept stopping and starting over again.
He let out an exasperated little huff and I asked, “What’s wrong, Buddy?”
“I can’t sing it in Spanish,” he replied the frustration clear in his voice.
“Zander,” I said. “You don’t know Spanish!”
“Oh…,” he said his eyes opening wide with the realization. “That’s why!”
In the interest of being more environmentally friendly, this post contains no less than 98% recycled content.
The Adventurers
Father’s day.
Dad’s all across the country will be heading out to golf courses and ball parks, lakes and rivers, or just to the living room to veg out in the Lazy Boy (well, the lucky ones have Lazy Boys. My wife has deemed the chair a God-awful eyesore and refuses to allow one in the house.) with a frosty adult beverage sporting that new paisley necktie because–well it’s dad’s day and that’s what dads get to do on their day, right?
Food is funny. Not in the funny ha, ha kind of funny but funny in the way that simple foods or particular food items can open floodgates of memories.
That kind of funny.
Loving life!
I had the pleasure of swimming in such memories this evening. Read the rest of this entry →
