New Year’s Resolution # 1: Cherish The People In My Life
written by Lane Hudson
Early one warm Sunday morning last month at a park playground, I was sitting in my car, drinking a good strong cup of black coffee, and reading my thick Sunday morning newspaper. When I spend $2 for a newspaper, I want to read it without interruptions, so I had escaped the noises of my house and driven to the park, I even left my cell phone at home. My solitude, however, was soon broken when a dad and his little girl parked almost next to me. When his car stopped, the little girl immediately popped from her door, running toward the swings, her pigtails sticking straight out.
“Come on, daddy,” she yelled. “I want you to push me on the swing.”
Her daddy opened his door, but remained behind the steering wheel, using it to prop up his newspaper. “You go ahead and play with the other kids,” I heard him say from behind his newspaper. “I’ll be right there.” He hadn’t noticed there weren’t other kids. There were just the three of us: two dads and a little girl. After repeated calls for her dad to join her, the little girl’s pleas soon stopped, and she became a quiet little figure, head down, twisting in a swing, looking at her dragging feet in the dirt.
I kept listening over the top of my newspaper and between my sips of coffee.
The dad eventually moved from his car to a picnic table near the swings, with his newspaper under his arm, and coffee in his hands. His move to the table closer to her, only encouraged her to begin her pleading again for him to push her. Finally, the man showing exasperation at his daughter’s interruptions, quickly closed his paper, poured out his coffee, and walked stiffly to the swing. But kids have antennas; they know when they are unwanted interruptions, so the little girl quickly changed her tune again. She told her dad she wanted to go home, she didn’t feel well. There was some mumbled argument, and I heard her dad say as they walked to the back to his car, “It was your idea we come today.” He hesitated long enough to detour by the picnic table to get his newspaper.
So they left. The excitable bundle of energy with pigtails now a subdued little girl as she climbed into her seat. Without a glance at his daughter, he started his car, backed up, and pulled past me. Seeing me for the first time, he waved. I waved back. I saw myself in his car - we were reflections of one another.
Children grow up too fast. Watching this dad only caused me to miss my own daughter. I wanted to go home and apologize to her, and the other people I love, for all the Sunday mornings I hid behind the newspaper; all the late night work and Saturday assignments that had to be done without interruptions. And especially all those “I’ll be right there” answers that were never fulfilled.
After they left, I folded my Sunday newspaper. I poured what remained of my coffee out my window. I wanted to go home, realizing that someday, I’ll have too much time, without interruptions, to read all the newspapers and drink all the coffee I want.