I posted this video on my personal Facebook page last night. We have watched it a couple dozen times since – I hope you enjoy.
Also, check out today’s post on Rocket City Mom.com by clicking Here. It’s my “Mixed Tape of Parenting Edition”, today’s song is “Green Gloves” by The National.
The alarm sounded, I snoozed, it sounded again, and I arose to make my way to Mae’s room. No surprise, she was cuddled deep within her blankets asleep. I sat on her bed; she clutched her covers tight and rolled over. I rubbed her back acknowledging that it’s tough getting back into routine.
“It’ll be good to see your friends!” I said, leaving her room, hoping she was awake.
After getting ready I peeked into her room to, thankfully, see a tossed-haired child pulling up tights and choosing a skirt.
We made it to the breakfast table.
“Where’s your binder?” I asked anxiously after noticing it wasn’t in her backpack.
“I don’t know.” Came through a half-full mouth of cereal and sleepy eyes.
“We need to find it. Can you remember where you left it?” Panic setting in a bit.
It’s only a binder, but not knowing where it was brought haste to an otherwise smooth morning. I thought I had got everything ready.
I looked in cupboards and under couches, while shouting out the minutes we had left before needing to leave. Then, I remembered her binder was at school.
“Mae, guess what? Your binder is at school. We’re good. But, you really need to get going honey, seriously.” I said shooing her to the bathroom.
We made it to the backdoor.
“I want to wear my new shoes. I can’t find the other one.” Mae said on the floor of the laundry room, with one shoe on – the wrong foot.
“We don’t have time, get your jacket on, we’re going to be late.” I said.
We made our way into the cold and quiet morning. En route to the bus stop we talked about our trip home and the friends she was excited to see.
No one was around.
Then, a car stopped next to us, rolled down their window, and said “School starts tomorrow.” I nervously laughed and said thank you.
“Dad! I could still be sleeping.” Mae said.
“Me too.” I shot back.
We all need a test-run right? Tomorrow should be smooth.
A giant spoon entered our kettle on Friday.
I spent the day with Haze, reading updated reports on my phone as information about a shooting, in a town I never heard of, splashed the top of every “feed” I subscribe to; making their various “pings” and “dings” rhythmically in my pocket.
I glanced at social media outlets where I met suppositions and ‘so sad’s’. In a few hours friend’s status updates of questioning and anguish turned to anger. Anger that spun in a million directions; back out at one another, laws, and the shooter.
I get that; I understand updates of grief and love, the ones about gun control, anger, irrational statements, and overly rational statements. Yes, my mind was twisted as I went about my day with Haze, but quick glances at words gathered in sentences to report the situation didn’t stop my daily flow.
After putting the girls to bed, Robin and I sat on the couch and watched the news of the day. I didn’t bother worrying about the scrunch of my face, or the sounds of my tears as they flew down my face, without the ability to pace, getting stuck in my throat with the sickest of taste. Words earlier read digitally, gave way to images of hurt, loss, and confusion that punctuated the day. It was now obvious why people were reacting intensely, but their statuses, tweets, and my news app updates couldn’t deliver the sights and interviews now searing my eyes.
Robin and I had our “How could it? What if…” discussion. We reflected on other tragedies in the world, daily injustices, war, and a myriad of “stuff” that breaks down our faith and hope in humanity.
Then, I turned to what comforts me, other than Robin, family, and friends, in times when confusion abounds and answers aren’t readily found – Music.
The following poem read by Bob Dylan “Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie” has less to do with Woody as an individual, and more to do with all of us as humans. The poem speaks to the human condition, something we all share.
No matter the differences in how we handle tragedy, we’re tethered together by a thread, the thread of what it is like to experience being a human. Your, my, and everyone else’s views of events may not muster the same feelings and reactions, but they lead us all needing and searching for the same thing – Hope.
It may just be a ‘Word that maybe you said or maybe you heard. On some windy corner ’round a wide-angled curve. But that’s what you need man, and you need it bad. And yer trouble is you know it too good.”
papa sense 