It's true. As it turns out, I have my own Kryptonite. And, discovering that this past weekend, I confess no small degree of surprise that it’s not cheesecake, BBQ ribs, foxy boxing or war movies that will prove my undoing.
No, my Kryptonite, of all stupid and improbable things, is a song. And to make it worse, it’s a song from a Disney movie! I can sense you shaking your heads. I know. Imagine things from my point of view – you are just now learning this about me. I AM me and am just now learning this about me.
The circumstances of this discovery are run of the mill, "small town dad" kinds of things. I was at my daughter’s pre-school graduation last Friday. Yes, we are a small town, and yes, we do pre-school graduation – and try as I might to sneer my cool sneer at this idea of a graduation pre-dating the time that this little kid actually even starts school; I can not.
The teachers have been with them two years (in some case almost half of the little kids’ lives). The kids themselves and the parents have traveled this road together. The parents can walk confidently from the parking lot without crying or looking back and their little ones have gone from terrified toddlers unable to let go of mom or dad’s pant leg in the morning, to budding independents with confidence, intellect, and unvarnished personality in full bloom. These thoughts already on my mind last Friday, I confess, I was feeling less than bulletproof when I got there.
The ceremony itself was in a beautiful old fashioned school auditorium. A gift to the community 80 some odd years ago from auto millionaire James Couzens after a madman destroyed the community school and killed scores of people. Upon learning of the disaster, Couzens called the Governor and said “Mr. Governor, my fortune is at your disposal. Rebuild the school.”
Rebuild it they did. The lobby of the auditorium is almost sacred in its reverence to the little town and its school kids who survived the tragedy. It is hallowed ground already. Evidence of so much vitality; so much life having passed through its halls in unheralded fashion, is everywhere. Ancient school desks on display; the school clock saved from the bombed out ruins, composite pictures of every graduating class dating back to pre-World War II remind all who pass that time is always special; and always moving, never guaranteed but for the precise moment you are living.
So it was that I walked briskly through this sepia toned slice of my new hometown to take in what was to be the most modest of ceremonies – my little girl, the miracle child who almost never was, graduating from pre-school.
As I made my way into the auditorium, I heard “the song.” Now, I don’t pretend to know everyone reading these pages, but I know enough of you to know that almost of all of you who are parents have a song that is “the song” that reminds you of your kids.
The song I heard entering the auditorium was Phil Collins’ “You’ll be in my heart” from the Disney movie, Tarzan. Immediately my knees buckled, I could not breathe, and either allergies or the gnats from a thousand camels attacked my eyes because for some reason I could not see out of them and they started leaking this kind of clear, viscous fluid. I had to sit down.
That song, as it turns out, is “the song” for my son, our oldest. He was born on a summer night at very nearly midnight. Like it is for all new parents, the experience of bringing our first child into this world was an adventure of conquering the unexpected and walking through the fear. When he was born we were at the hospital for over 13 hours and had one minor emergency that scared me to death. Around 4:00 am, when all went quiet and my wife and new son were tucked in and safe and sound – I walked out to the car for a short ride home to catch some sleep before coming back to the hospital the next morning.
Our modest home was about 5 miles away and the roads were deserted. I started the car and turned on the radio just in time to hear “You’ll be in my heart.” It’s a song I'll forever associate with him and my journey from plain old Dennis to SmallTownDad.
Listening to the lyrics that day, reflecting on the events and permanent change they brought to my life, I realized then how, all at once, I had a new singular purpose in my life – to keep this family safe. By the time I got home that night 11 years ago I was so full of passion and adrenaline I would have gladly gone looking for lions, tigers, or any other perceived threat to my family. I felt inspired and committed to the idea that no matter what in my life, as a dad I would always have to be brave.
So it was that the same song that inspired me 11 years previously sapped my strength last Friday. I sat immobile; every ounce of testosterone repelled from my body with the force of two magnets of the same polarity. In that moment I came to another realization. The bravery stuff is obvious – all animals have it when it comes to their children. It’s how we guarantee the survival of the species.
But, zoology and evolution aside, I realized then that nothing in my life prepared me for how much I would love these children; how vulnerable I would be to even their most humble achievements or modest heartaches. Nothing prepared me for the reckoning that with each celebration marked, each milestone achieved – there comes a collateral moment of the rare and beautiful gift of this special time slipping away into my life’s rearview mirror.
So today’s blog is a blog about celebration and appreciation. I am so grateful to have been blessed with this chance to be a dad; to watch them grow and to know their stories – to have these small hands to hold if even for a little bit. The legacy of this little town we chose is to not take one moment for granted; don’t forsake any of the badges or incidences of childhood. Through natural means or other, those will be gone into memory soon enough.
Thanks for stopping by today – I hope wherever you are this graduation season –if you are celebrating a college, high school, or pre-school graduation – you seize that moment to cry hot tears, cheer ‘til your throat is sore, and reflect on the cascading series of miracles that put you and yours at exactly this place with exactly these people.
Dennis
smalltowndad@hotmail.com
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