It was one of those mornings we parents know so well. The girls had been up late the night before. We'd overslept, and I was
caught up in the morning frenzy - backpacks, sneakers, and a missing safety patrol belt. I banged on the shower door three times,
begging them to hurry.
My wife rushed past, kissing two wet cheeks and racing out the door for work. I looked at my watch. Fifteen minutes, I was
thinking. We can do this. We can make it. As I was stuffing sandwiches into lunch bags, I could see Maggie, our seven-year-old,
struggling to pull a sock over a wet foot. I finished in the kitchen and ran into her room to help.
Caitlin, our ten-year-old, was finished getting ready and eager to get on her bike. She was late for her safety patrol post. I
told her to go ahead on her own, and to be careful. She gave me a quick hug, strapped on her backpack, and opened the garage
door. I looked at my watch again as she pedaled down the driveway. Ten minutes. Maggie brushed her teeth while I ran a comb
through her hair. I noticed that she hadn't quite rinsed out all of the conditioner. It would have to do. Two minutes later,
we were flying down the bike path to school.
I was just beginning to feel like we were actually going to make it when Maggie slammed on her brakes in front of me, the back
wheel of her bike almost skidding off the path. I nearly crashed into her.
"What's wrong?" I asked. My voice was sharp and parental.
"Dad," Maggie whispered, turning around with wide eyes. "Look. Look at that spider web."
In my mind, there was some screaming going on. How can you be stopping for a stupid spider web when we've only got about thirty
seconds to get you to school on time? I haven't taken a shower. I haven't shaved. I'm wearing yesterday's clothes and I'm going
to have to walk you into the office to sign you in late.
All those thoughts flew by in the split second it took me to turn my eyes from Maggie's face to the spider web that had just
completely messed up my morning. But then I saw it too. Suspended gracefully between the tips of two huge palmetto leaves, the
spider web glistened and sparkled in the morning sunshine—a simple, peaceful example of the nature around us. Maggie looked over
at me and smiled, and the world slowed down.
We wasted some time, my baby girl and I, and we really took it in. We stopped and marveled at the tiny morning gift a spider had
left for us. We talked about it. Maggie pointed out how the droplets of dew sparkled in the sunshine. We listened to each
other.
Without speaking, Maggie pushed off and led the way again, and I noticed a change in how she was riding her bike. Just moments
earlier, she'd been crouched down in a racer's position - elbows tight against her chest, shoulders scrunched down, face forward,
focused. Now her back was straight, her elbows out, face up in the wind. Her head rocked playfully side to side as she pedaled.
As Maggie parked her bike, I tucked in the shirt I'd worn the day before. Then we walked together through the office door,
smiling with our faces still up in the wind. Late pass in hand, Maggie skipped off to class, and I opened the sign-in book. I
scribbled 8:10 in the logbook, smiled at the secretary, and stepped back out into the morning breeze. I took my time riding home. I didn't stop to look at the spider web again, but I did whisper "Thank you" as I rode past.
Sometimes we get so caught up in the efficiency, we forget the simple things that make life worth living. Maggie saw that spider
web and slammed on the brakes, giving me a wakeup call I'll remember for a very long time.
About The Author:
Paul R. May is a full-time writer and stay-at-home dad. He writes children's novels, picture books, parenting articles,
and essays about raising children. Visit him at: Paul R May.
* This article is available for your publication, for a F-E-E.
This article may NOT be reprinted without monetary compensation and written permission from the author.
For reprint rights or comments/questions about this article, please contact the author.
|
