2008 zipped by in record time, so I guess that means it was a good
year. I’m in a reflective mood, so I hope you’ll indulge me while I
try to enumerate the little things that made the year memorable. I
hope these little anecdotes touch you the way they have touched me.
Olaia (10) is growing up so fast. She’s already five feet tall at
ten years old. She’s a bit taller than I was at the same age.
Apart from her physical stature, she’s developing into an interesting
and fun person in her own right as well. No longer just a little
girl, she’s become a sophisticated conversationalist, clever,
insightful, and humorous.
This morning, Javier and I sat down and were separating the dark
gains from a batch of green coffee beans. I had spread them out and
the two of us picked through them to select only the best quality for
mommy and daddy’s morning roast and brew. The little grains of
coffee have a tendency to roll around a bit if you are not careful,
and I, increasingly frustrated at Javier for his fidgeting, began to
become exasperated.
“Patience, my young padawan,” said Olaia, quoting Star Wars
Jedi master’s famed advice to their apprentice learners.
I busted up laughing and all negative emotions fled. Olaia
exhibits a keen emotional situational awareness that allows her to
deliver individually personalized disarming quips. From Olaia, I
remember that I am loved, noticed, important, and it makes me a
better person.
Jaimito (6) is turning into a little musician. He loves his
guitar and any time he has a few minutes he serenades us with his
repertoire of ten songs from Suzuki Guitar book 1. The other day he
said to me, “Daddy, I’m bored with these songs.”
“Well, Jaimito,” I said, “Why don’t you go to the next song,
read the music and figure it out?”
“Okay, Daddy,” he replied and went to work. Plinkety-plink
plinkety-plink plinkety-plonk, and slowly but surely a song emerged.
I continue to be reminded by him that concentration, attention to
detail, and perseverance have measurable results. Bit by bit, if we
put in the effort, we can improve ourselves.
Javier (almost 4) is a little firecracker according to my friend,
Courtney. She likes him very much, and I think I know why. You never
have to guess with Javier. He wears his heart on his sleeve, for
good and for bad.
The other day we were having foot races in the park. Javier came
in last every time, his little red face crestfallen and contorted
with disappointment. With his shoulders slumped forward, he let out
a heavy sigh and a little wail, “Daddy, oh, why? I can’t do it.”
With every fiber of his being, he had left it all on the field, used
up every last drop of his abilities, and it still wasn’t enough.
Why, oh why, wasn’t it enough? I swept him up in my arms and kissed
him.
“Good try, Javier. You ran fast, but you’re little.” He
still ran the next race, so convinced was he that he could do it and
surprised that he didn’t. I like that attitude. Through Javier, I
see that failure should be a surprise every single time. Expect
success.
Little Asier (almost 2) is such a good natured little boy. I call
him my little gongolí (gohng-go-LEE), a word we use in Puerto Rico
for the little millipedes that wander in an out of our houses.
Whenever a gongolí finds its way in to the house, we fetch a piece
of paper and gently gather up our little guest for a trip outside.
The gongolí rolls up in to a protective ball and we set him out upon
the front lawn. Asier is a bit like that, easy going,
non-threatening. The other day he got into an open container of
diaper wet wipes. At first I was ready to scold him, but quickly saw
that he had been “cleaning” various things in our car port. “You
see?” he seemed to say, “I cleaned.” He pointed at the cleaned
items.
Mostly, Asier moseys around the house engaging his little Fisher
Price toys in epic battles of “Ohhhh, ahhhh, ooooooo, whoohh,
ummmmmm.” These are epic scenes of flying toys and cars and people
all bound up in an onomatopoeic to and fro.
Whether it’s a tight budget, busy schedule, or difficult
circumstances, Asier reminds me, that like the gongolí, a lot of the
time it’s your attitude that’s important. Slow down, smile, and take
it all stride. Have fun along the way.
Laura and I decided that we had had enough of our ugly concrete slab
in our backyard and resolved to cover it with some nice Spanish tiles.
Laura has been a real trooper, doing most of the tile laying – by
herself. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” I ask.
“No, I like doing it… really.” I guess the work echoed her
sculpture days, wallowing in the dirt, shaping, creating, getting
dirty. It is always refreshing to have a new aspect of loved ones
revealed, even after fourteen years of marriage. I’m glad I got to
know that Laura likes laying tiles.
And finally, I got an
opportunity to relearn something important. My prison mentoring
group went caroling (called a parranda (pahrr-AN-dah)) at the
juvenile facility. Our recent weeks have been hard, the kids have
been sullen, rude, and withdrawn. We sometimes wonder why we even
go. It seems the administration doesn’t want us there. The kids
don’t want us there. Why bother? So we decided that one last time
we’d give them a little Christmas cheer and see if the spirit moves
us to come back in the new year.
Cell block one was a bit of a bust. Our singing was off, the kids
didn’t know what to do, many of them not familiar with even their own
Puerto Rican Christmas traditions. It would be like not knowing the
words to “Jingle Bells.” So we sort of lurched forward, put on a
brave face, going through the motions. I tried to sing the songs
(which I really only know passingly), and we muddled our way through.
Cell block two was a bit better. I decided that I would just
throw myself into the group of inmates. I wedged myself in with
them, saying, “I don’t now these songs, who can help me?”
“I know them, mister.” And one of the young men shepherded me
through. We sang together, and as the song went on, our voices
soared, gathering strength. More of the young men joined in, and our
two little groups, merged into one.
We sang some more songs, ate some food, and shared smiles.
Each subsequent cell block (up to four) got better. By the end we
didn’t want to leave, and I’m sure they didn’t want to either. We
were bid farewell to shouts of “¡Felicidades!”, smiles, and
joyous spirits. It was a long way from where we began, and I wished
we could have gone back to cell block one to start over.
There were many lessons, but the one that sticks out more plainly
than the others was this: sometimes you have to humble yourself,
express a need, to draw out someone’s best nature. Laura often
speaks of this and on my parranda I was able to see it first hand.
Once you open yourself to receive, the bounty seems to multiply, and
everyday miracles emerge.
In closing, I leave you with Jaimito’s Christmas season drawing and
words (from a typical folk song with the same sentiment as the Little
Drummer Boy).
(1) Listen little boy on the donkey. To where do you
go? (2) With my little grassland donkey I’m on my way to Bethlehem.
To Bethlehem? (3) If you see me, if you see me, I’m on my way to
Bethlehem (4) And with a song in his heart, the little boy formed a
caroling group with the Three Wise Men and continued on to Bethlehem.
