Nordquist Blog

Kai followed me on his hands and knees as I drove stakes into the ground. Our tent was setup, and I was driving the last few stakes to hold the rainfly in place.

I figured Kai would realize I didn’t need his help before running off to the play area to meet up with his brother and sisters. But he stayed at my side watching my every move.

I handed him a bag containing the last few stakes. He’d smile and pull one out when asked. This went on until we’d made our way to the tent’s entrance and the final loop without a stake.

This time I handed Kai the hammer. He spent the next five minutes slowly tapping the stake into the ground. He used both hands and took a break every third swing or so. I considered lending a hand, but decided to watch instead. This feisty little 2-year old with floppy blonde hair. Makes me wonder if I provided the same mix of joy and frustration to my parents when I was his age.

When he could not longer see the head of the stake, he handed the hammer to me and said, “All done, dad”.

As I drove home alone this evening, I thought about the many interactions I’ve had with my kids over the past ten days I’ve had off work. We spent one afternoon picking blueberries and another at the children’s museum in Seattle. We went Rollerblading together and spent a couple of hours at an arcade playing pinball and Skee Ball.

But the small experiences like I had with Kai weave together to form the best parts of fatherhood.  I wish I had another 10 day off work to spend with them.

Visiting an Old Navy store makes me feel old. I can’t relate with any of the fashions that include “painter” pants that intentionally slide off my butt or t-shirts that look as though they’ve already been washed 400 times.

I don’t understand the colors either. It’s as if every piece of clothing is working overtime to make me look like a UPS driver. How many shades of brown are there? I don’t know but Old Navy continues to drum up new ones each year just to “keep it fresh”.

I’m not here to talk about Old Navy fashions. I’m at that age where I’ll never understand what teens are wearing which means I can’t be far from chasing them off my lawn.  But today we decided to knock out some school clothes shopping at Overlake Mall.

I entered the Old Navy pushing an empty stroller with Kai trailing. Without notice, I heard a woman’s voice boom, “WELCOME TO OLD NAVY!!” as if she was coming from a megaphone. I looked around wondering where that came from until I noticed a women standing at least 30 yards away, folding clothes at the register.

This is where things got awkward.

The employee with an amazing set of pipes waved in my general direction, and I wasn’t sure what the proper response should be. I wasn’t sure if I should cup my hands and scream back or act like I’m deaf. She was standing so far away I began to wonder if the greeting originated somewhere else. Did I trip an auto-greeting like those found at the McDonald’s drive-thru that attempt to push new menu items? “Would you like to try a 20 piece McNugget meal and one of our new strawberry banana smoothies? Order when you’re ready”.

I didn’t want to scare my kids or damage their hearing so I went with the friendly wave into space. I performed one of those waves you see at Miss American pageants that’s directed at everybody yet nobody.

I’ll bet Old Navy has a policy where each person who enters the store must be greeted no matter where the employee is positioned. I’ve experienced this at Supercuts. I’ll be in the chair getting my hair cut, and a customer will come through the door just in time for my stylist to greet them from across the store.  “Welcome to Supercuts! We’ll be with you shortly!”

I wasn’t planning on sharing my haircut with a stranger, thank you.

Can we put an end to this type of phony greeting? I understand it’s polite to welcome each customer to your store. It’s courteous and lets them know you’re there if they need anything. But I can’t imagine a Nordstrom employee yelling at me from across the room.  Imagine entering a Ben Bridge Jewelers only to be greeted by a guy helping newlyweds select rings. I can wait till you’re finished. I really can. Please help the cute couple as I’m just here to replace my $15 fake alligator watch band.

If you’re a store owner, don’t demand that every customer must be greeted the second they enter the store. Instead of yelling from 30 yards out, what if the Old Navy employee had finished folding her stack of sweaters before walking over to greet me?

I’m sure the Party Cardis can wait.

While Kim recuperated from a minor concussion, I took the kids to Snoqualmie Falls. The kids were interested in the waterfall for maybe four seconds before heading towards an open patch of grass.

“Will you make up a game for us?” asked Luca.

My creative instincts rose to the challenge, and we played a game of tag that consisted of Kai running after us with a half-eaten sucker. When the kids dad was too tired to play any longer, we gravitated to a large rock just off the path. A few of them remembered this rock because we’ve rested in this very spot in years past.

The kids had all sorts of questions about the rock. How are rocks made? How did this one grow to be so big? How did someone move it to this exact spot for kids to sit on?

As we chatted Luca caught me off-guard with this question: “What would you do if you were a millionaire?”

I paused and thought for a moment about the cities around the world I’d take the kids to see. Maybe hire a nanny or at least someone to fold the laundry. I’d buy Kim an iPad and one of those robots that vacuums the kitchen floor. No, I’d buy her five new bookshelves. She’s been begging me about those for years.

Those were my thoughts as we sat on a rock in the middle of a forest. The skies were overcast and the temperature ideal for this afternoon. We watched squirrels run up and down the tree trunks. The entire setting is dominated with lush green tones.

As we were about to leave, I watched an elderly man grasp the arm of what looked to be his granddaughter before slowing making their way up the stairs to the lookout platform.

When we made it back to the car, I looked at the kids in the rearview mirror. Kai was nodding off to sleep and Anna and Lincoln were back to playing Mario Kart.

“Do you know what I’d do if I were a millionaire?” I asked, knowing only Luca would be listening.

“What?” she asked.

“I’d be doing exactly what I’m doing now”.

“Will we get another dog when Elka dies?” Anna asked.

“Probably” I answered.

The kids have been worried about our boxer who turned 10 years old a few months ago. She’s slowed over the past couple of years. Her back legs become stiff, and she hobbles around the house trying to keep up with four young, active children. She used to chase them around the yard. Now, she sits next to the window and watches.

Of course, she can’t help but greet the kids at the door when they arrive home from school. And she’s always the first to welcome me home from work each day.

The questions about Elka continued until Kim began playing the piano. Elka was curled up on one end of the couch while the rest of us tried to position ourselves on the remaining two cushions.

Only the small light at the piano provided any light to the room. The kids wiggled around for a moment before quieting down as Kim began.

After we bought our first home, Kim convinced me that we needed a piano. Although I didn’t play, I figured I’d enjoy listening to her and I was right. She’s taught herself many new songs, and each one she plays today brings back memories of the various stages of our life we started together twelve years ago.

As four kids, one adult and one dog made it onto the couch in various stages of comfort, Kim played a song from David Lanz called “Behind the Waterfall/Desert Rain”. The kids watched her fingers dance across the keys emitting a tune we’ve heard her play dozens of times, yet never tire of. I’ve told Kim it’s my favorite song she plays.

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I’m done trying to figure out what will help the kids settle down for the evening. Reading a story together works occasionally until one of the kids belches or worse and the kids topple off the bed in laughter. So I’m surprised when they all remain on the couch until mom plays the last note. Could it be the music has a calming effect on them? Either way, these impromptu concerts result in some of the best times we spend together as a family. The piano, not the television, has become the hub of our family, and has been worth every penny we paid for it.

Eventually the song comes to an end as does the peacefulness. Before long, balls and socks are being tossed around the room.

And that’s when I noticed that not once did any child pester Elka. Not even Kai. They left her curled up on the couch, and allowed her to rest. Even when it meant less room for them. I know they love her as much as she loves them. She just doesn’t have the energy to express it like she did when she was younger.

As I ran my fingers through her dark brindle fir, Anna approached me. It was clear she’d been thinking about her earlier question when she said, “When Elka is gone, I want a dog just like her”.

“Maybe this time we’ll get a tan and white boxer”, I added.

Luca was listening from the other end of the couch, and when she heard me, she said, “No way, Dad. Let’s get one that looks just like Elka”.

I hope Kim plays many more impromptu piano concerts for us. And I hope Elka joins us on the couch to hear a few more.

I was well into my teens before I began considering what I might do one day as a profession. Every idea was in play except teacher because I’d seen what my father had gone through. His work days were long and irregular which limited the amount of time he could spend with us. The pay didn’t seem match the amount of education it required. And I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy spending the bulk of my day correcting the bratty kids.

As I entered college I felt like I could find success in anything I went after. I didn’t have to accept the same old boring career path. While friends from high school attended law, dental and medical school, I studied German. I enjoyed the smaller classes that came with choosing a language studies program compared to business or law. Part of the excitement was not knowing what I’d do after graduation. And by not knowing, it felt like I could do anything.

And, frankly, I liked being different. Sitting in an auditorium with 700 other clones taking Marketing 101 made me feel like I was back at the Mission Training Center expected to fit in, tow the line, and do what I was told. I enjoyed a few of the classes but despised the attitude of those students studying business.

I was caught between playing it safe and following my heart.

As much as I learned in four years of college, the most valuable skills I learned came at night in my apartment when I’d take computers apart, study the pieces, and put them back together. Luckily, I had my tech savvy uncle to lean on during those times I ended up with a handful of spare parts and a computer that refused to boot.

As I look back on my career, I see how often I’ve played it safe with my choices. One of the few times I took a chance and followed my heart was the time I left a stable corporate job to join a small Internet Service Provider in Seattle. The amount of knowledge I gained there easily surpassed all other jobs combined, and I’m convinced it’s because I forced myself to step outside my comfort zone.

Why do I continue to play it safe when I know it results in learning less?

It was easier to take chances when I was single and certainly before we had children. Back then, if I took a chance, and it didn’t work out, I’d find something else. But now I can’t afford to go without medical benefits for my family. With the economic downturn and high unemployment numbers, playing it safe sounds like the reasonable choice.

And yet, this is probably the best time to follow my heart because I have so much on the line. I’d have to make it work. I couldn’t allow myself to fail because failure would affect many people.

I’m not betting with house money anymore.

But a small part of me says, “Go for it”.

Luca stood on the left side of the court while I stood on the right. We’d been hitting tennis balls off a large cement wall together for an hour.

I mentioned I was tired, but would finish hitting the last few balls until they flew out of bounds. Luca wasn’t worn out and began to lobby for me to continuing playing.

This past weekend is one of the few throughout the year we spend on the Washington coast with my in-laws. We enjoyed our time at the beach, but because the weather was cooler than normal, we found a school where the kids could work off some energy on the playground.

Luca did her best to keep the ball in play which kept me on the court longer than I’d planned. When the last tennis ball headed towards the grass, I handed my racquet to Lincoln and started for the car.

“But I want you to watch me play”, Luca said before I could get too far.

She wants me to watch her play.

I stood away from the court for a moment and took in the scene. My other kids were going down the slide or climbing on the monkey bars. My youngest was probably chasing bees on the soccer field. My iPhone was in the car updating itself with email and blogs to read.

I paused to think about how often I show up, play with the kids before taking off as fast as I showed up. Mom sees them regularly in school while I appear for the two hour field trip before racing back to work. I sneak in the back just in time to catch the piano recital. I’m like Spiderman without the climbing or web making abilities. I show up, complete my assignment, and head off to more important endeavors.

Don’t blink or you might miss my appearance.

I took a seat close to the court instead of one back at the van. Whenever Luca hit a backhanded or returned a difficult shot, she turned to see if I’d witnessed it before flashing a smile.

It won’t be long before she’s whizzing serves past my outstretched arms. There’s no guarantee she’ll always want me around to watch her hit tennis balls. Or play the piano or perform in the talent show. I didn’t always want my parents around during my teen years. 

But this time I didn’t race off to more important endeavors.

They don’t exist.

The clock on the stove said 11:33 pm.

I pulled the Costco sized basket of strawberries from the fridge, and began to cut them into slices. I was rinsing and slicing as fast as I could go, but it didn’t feel like I was making much progress. That’s when I noticed Kai’s tiny hand grasping two strawberry slices from the bowl. Before I could say a word, he was making a beeline for the living room while shoving them into his mouth.

With Kai at bay, I was able to fill a bowl full of strawberries while Kim rinsed a bowl of blueberries.  I put four small bowls on the table and filled each with whipped cream before calling the kids to the table.

As much as the kids love ice cream, they will do about anything for a snack of fresh fruit and whipped cream.

Most nights I’d be anxious wondering if their rooms were clean or if their dirty clothes had been tossed down the laundry chute. Last night I spent ten minutes explaining why the Slip’n Slide and inflatable pool couldn’t remain on the grass overnight. Glazed eyes and yawns started 30 seconds into that lecture.

And if every toy was in its place and every tooth had been brushed, I’d wonder why the kids were giving each other wedgies so close to midnight. Although, I must admit, if you’re going to be dishing out wedgies, midnight isn’t a bad time to be doing so.

Before I unleashed them on the fruit, I explained the only two rules:

1. Only one piece of fruit at a time
2. No intentionally painting face with whipped cream

They agreed and were soon grabbing strawberries and blueberries as fast as they could shove them in their mouths.  Luca told me this was “way better than a milkshake”. Anna said we should do this every night. Lincoln licked whipped cream off his arm.

Too many times I’m with my kids but my mind is elsewhere. How many times has one of your children asked you a question and your only reply is, “What did you say?” I’m afraid this happens to me much too often.

But tonight I’m going to celebrate a small victory over distractions. Sure, it didn’t happen until way past everyone’s bedtime, but I don’t care. It happened. That’s what matters. Because that’s what my kids will remember.

When I was young, my mom would sprinkle powered sugar over a bowl of orange slices. As much as I enjoyed the treat, I loved that my mom sat across from me and at table and made me feel important.  As was the case tonight, those moments oftentimes took place past my bedtime while my father watched Johnny Carson.

When the fruit was gone, the kids ran off to bed as quickly as they had arrived. I was left to ponder why I don’t do this more often while I stood at the sink rinsing dishes.

Oh, I’m sure they will be tired tomorrow morning. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

I’d had enough.

Enough of the kids arguing over whose turn it was to play on the computer. Enough of trying to keep the neighbor kids out of our yard and my kids out of theirs. Enough of this or that that I had to remove myself from the mayhem.

But mom wasn’t home, and the care of our four children and dog were in my increasingly frustrated hands.

Sometimes the kids wear me down to the point that I’ll agree to any request no matter how outlandish. Fruit Loops and Red Vines for dinner? Sure. Pop Tarts and Teddy Grahams? Whatever it takes.

That was my mindset last night. To make matters worse, the house was hot and muggy. Temperatures in the Seattle area zoomed into the 90’s which doesn’t sound like much but isn’t comfortable without central air.

I sent the kids upstairs to get ready for bed. The clock over the mantel told me I was two hour late getting them down for the night. I turned off the lights and sat down on the couch.

I heard the kids brushing teeth and changing into the nightshirts that arrived that day from their grandfather. Cabinets were shut and the water faucet was turned on and off enough times that I began to wonder how many children were in there.

I even heard someone flush the toilet.

Some negotiating took place to get Kai headed in the right direction, but eventually the kids made it to their rooms without a major uprising.

I sat in the dark wondering when mom would be home. I wanted to lay down but we own the world’s most uncomfortable couch, and my butt was almost numb from the metal support beam. Instead I pulled out my iPhone and began to play a mindless game of Doodle Jump.

I was nearly asleep when I felt someone scoot next to me. It was Luca. I waited for her to ask me to get her a drink, or turn the hallway light on or adjust the fan. But she didn’t. Any minute now she’s going to ask to play a game on my phone. But she said nothing.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“I just want to sit next to you”, she replied.

So I sat there next to my daughter on the most uncomfortable couch listening to the ceiling fan. Suddenly it didn’t matter that the house was hot or that it wouldn’t be entirely clean before mom arrived home.

If Luca sensed my earlier frustration, she didn’t mention it. But she knew I could use the company.

I learn a lot from my kids.

And often it comes at the most unexpected times.

The first time I heard Jackson Browne’s “The Pretender”, I didn’t think much of it. I bought the used CD because I enjoy his best known album, “Running on Empty”.

But after one late night study session at the University of Utah, I headed down interstate 15 in my Acura Integra. It was the first car I owned that came with a CD player. I decided to give the Pretender another shot.

I didn’t think much of it until I began pulling up the street to my apartment, and I heard this amazing piano accompany these lyrics:

Say a prayer for the pretender?

Are you there for the pretender?

Say a prayer for the pretender.

Oh, are you there for the pretender?

Are you prepared the pretender?

That voice and the lyrics and that piano. I couldn’t stop listening so I drove past my apartment and continued down Orchard Drive until I was back on the interstate. It didn’t matter where. All that mattered was that I had to hear this song over and over, and the only CD player I owned was attached to this car.

I’ve heard Jackson Browne describe what influenced him to write the Pretender. But I interpreted differently. I didn’t have enough experience behind me at the time to feel like I’d abandoned my dreams for a life of commercialism.

My interpretation was simple: I was a pretender.

I was going through the motions at school, in my marriage, in my church calling and most of my friendships. Giving just enough to each to keep them alive but not enough to keep them off life support. I was a pretender.

I hid behind the facade of busy. It wasn’t difficult to look like I had my act together. I had little free time so I must be accomplishing something, right? Each day was filled with classes, studying, work and more studying. But I was a pretender.

Is there an age where one wakes up feeling like an adult? I assumed that would happen when I graduated from college? Or maybe when I got married or the first job that came with an office and business cards? Certainly it would happen once I became a father?

With age comes experience. Trials provide opportunities to mature. I’m not as stupid and naive as I was the night drove through Salt Lake listening to Jackson Browne.

Nobody has pulled back the curtain to expose how little I know and how often I act like I know what I’m doing when, in reality, I have no idea.

I’ve even come to terms with the fact that there are times where all I can do is pretend to know what I’m doing. 

For example, when Kim asks me select church outfits for our daughters. Or when Anna asked me why some guys have boobs.

Say a prayer for the pretender.

My parents lived less than 50 yards from McKay Dee Hospital. As a young boy, this provided a number of benefits. If I could convince my mom to give me 75 cents, I could buy a Ramlin Root Beer and a package of raspberry and coconut Zingers.

The other benefit came in the form of crank calling the bank of pay phones located just inside the hospital’s main entrance. I’d memorize the four phone numbers and use one phone to call the others. Passersby would tire of the ringing and take the bait. Seldom did I have much of a conversation with the pranked because my laughter would blow my cover.

It was all fun and games until a nurse or janitor called security. I can’t imagine how many times a uniformed security guard chased me down those carpeted hallways on my skateboard. No way does a middle aged, out-of-shape security guard catch a 12-year old mischief maker.

These were a few of my thoughts as we came across this working phone booth at Westport Marina this afternoon. My kids didn’t know what to make of it. They stared at it for a few minutes before going inside.

“Dad, why does the phone say 75 cents?”

“Because that’s what it costs if you want to make a call.”

“Why would someone pay to use a phone? And why’s the phone connected to a cord?”

Sadly, I was unable to find a number associated to this phone or I would have tried calling it from my iPhone. I considered telling my children about my past pay phone exploits. Explain why security chased me from the building.

But they will find out about my misspent youth soon enough.

I wonder what my son will do with his spare time when he turns 12 in a few years? Crank calling pay phones won’t be an option and that makes me sad.

Good thing I’m not out of bad examples to teach him.

Do you remember where you were when you heard that song? The song that must have been written for you because it grabs you and won’t let you go until it’s ripped through your soul?

I doubt it’s coincidence that music often hits me in this manner during turbulent times. That was the case with the Counting Crows which made the 2.5 hour drive from Ogden to Rock Springs less dreary by taking my mind off my crumbling marriage.

After the chips had fallen and papers signed, I was left with my computer, a cat and a 20-inch television that was wedged up against the wall because the broken stand alone wasn’t enough to keep it off the floor.

The speakers attached to my computer were so weak that I tuned my TV to MTV in order to listen to music while I typed away in the dark. But these were not happy times. I was 900 miles away from my family, I barely earned enough money to afford a one bedroom apartment in Seattle, and I had no idea where life was taking me.

I knew it would take a while to get back back on my feet. I decided to start working out each morning. I’d slip on my running shoes at 6 am and head towards Volunteer Park. It’s not uncommon to run through mist in Seattle, and I didn’t realize how wet my clothes were until I stopped to rest a few blocks from home.

Yellow earphones hung around my neck that were connected to an FM radio. As I was about ready to remove them, I heard a piercing harmonica followed by this woman’s voice that felt like a slap across the face.

But it was this lyric that stopped me in my tracks:

And what it all boils down to
Is that no one’s really got it figured out just yet

When the song finished, the DJ mentioned the name of the song which I didn’t catch. Luckily, he mentioned the track was off the Jagged Little Pill album. On my way to work I walked by Westlake Center and bought the CD.

That’s what good music does. It compels you to buy it now. Not tomorrow, but right now.

That night I slipped the CD into my car’s player and headed east up I90 towards North Bend. I listened to Hand in My Pocket over and over. The lyrics were spot on. Over time, I began to see that I wasn’t as bad off as I’d thought. When I looked around, others were struggling. I wasn’t the only one who was confused. And that gave me hope.

What it all comes down to, my friends
Is that everything’s just fine fine fine

It took a while but I eventually began putting the pieces together, and my life began to take shape again.

When this song comes around today on my iTunes playlist, it takes me back to that misty Seattle morning where a young man stood soaked to bone wondering if his future was as bleak as the weather.

Yet I’m more optimistic today knowing that nobody really has it all figured out.

Just yet.

-Link to my favorite version of Hand in My Pocket

“Are we going swimming?”

“Are we going swimming?”

“Dad?”

“Are we going swimming?”

That’s what I hear as I open the door from the garage and look for a safe area to place my briefcase. But first I must make my way through the obstacle course of crayons, book bags, and rain boots my kids have designed for me.

And in case I didn’t hear him the first three times, Lincoln reminds me that tonight is the night I promised to take him swimming.

Only I don’t remember making that promise.

Then again, I don’t remember much that takes place from the time I come through the door to the time the kids head to bed. It’s one big blur.

The kids want to share what they learned at school. That involves each of them trying to talk over one another until my ears are ringing. Yesterday, Lincoln made me…something. It’s odd shaped, colorful and, according to Lincoln, would look great in my office. At first sight, I thought it was an Indian chief or Aztec art. If coworkers ask, I’ll tell them it’s Lady Gaga.

Eventually we end up at the dinner table where I select someone who isn’t inhaling a dinner roll or guzzling lemonade to give the prayer. On special occasions the food gets blessed. When Anna does the honors we keep our fingers crossed that God has a liberal sense of humor.

There are nights where Kim and I look at each other and wonder how we lost control. There are times when the chaos drives me to retreat to my computer where I drown out the noise with a set of headphones.

And that’s where I found myself tonight.

Just one more ESPN article. Better check Facebook. Where’s my iPhone?

And then silence. I’d better check this out. So I head upstairs to find Kim sitting in the hallway reading a book to the kids who are in bed: Anna and Luca in one room and Lincoln and Kai in another. Nobody is pulling faces or making noises to annoy younger sisters. No shoving, belching or giggling.

As the chaos turns to calm I begin to understand.

Kim continues to read until they’re asleep. The mood is peaceful. Only our dog can be heard walking through the kitchen looking for table scraps.

My head is no longer spinning from the day’s activity. It’s not always apparent on the surface. But I’m certain I will look back on nights like these and proclaim they were the best of my life.

“If you can touch it, you can catch it”, I yelled across the backyard loud enough that neighbors to both sides could hear.

Lincoln scanned the yard for the ball. As he walked towards the shed where the ball had nestled up against, his bounce was gone.

So was his smile.

Just days before I played the same game with his older sister, Luca.

The game is simple. Find any ball. The softer the better. Today we used a volleyball belonging to our neighbor that found its way over our fence. The kids stand on the grass, and I kick the ball to them from 20 to 30 yard away as they try to catch it.

I know the game sounds boring, and it would be if I was able to kick the ball straight with any consistency. But I am no Lionel Messi. I spray the ball into the trees, neighbors yard and even Kim’s tomato plants.

But the unpredictability is the key to the game because the kids feel special on those rare moments I kick the ball in their vicinity and they are able to catch it.

My two oldest children go about playing the game in entirely different fashions. Luca likes me to challenge her. She likes to hear that I don’t believe she’ll be able to catch the next ball, and she keeps score as if her life depended on it.

Lincoln likes to keep score as well. But he wants to be encouraged instead of challenged. So telling him that he can catch it if he can touch it doesn’t go over well like it might with Luca.

I cherish this time with my son. It reminds of of those hot afternoons spent tossing the baseball around the yard with my father. As much as I enjoyed playing catch with my friends, nothing felt better than earning my father’s praise. But what I remember most are the talks we had. Most had nothing to do with baseball. But he was focused on me during those times. No TV, cell phone or sisters to distract. I learned a lot about my father on those nights where we played until it was dark or the mosquitoes were too thick.

The sun was setting and the shadows were making it difficult for Lincoln to see the ball. But he doesn’t want to stop playing.

He tells me he’s going to miss school but can’t wait to spend time with his grandparents at the beach and pool.

He describes the many friends he made at school this year and the books he’s reading. He asks me dozens of questions such as, “Who pays for the books at the library”.

I begin to understand why my father was willing to play catch with me until the sun went down after a long day at work.

“Last kick of the night”, I say.

Vision is limited and I wonder if I have one good kick left in me. Lincoln stretches out his arm as my best kick of the night bounces off his chest towards the shed. Lincoln pauses, expecting me to tell him that if he can touch it, he can catch it.

“Good try. You’ll catch it next time”, I call out as Lincoln bounds down the stairs towards the shed.

I see traits I share with each of our four children, but especially Luca. The older she gets the more these traits surface. I tell myself that most are good, and only a few (picky eater, moody) will provide challenges.

Luca is reading the Harry Potter series. She made it through the first three books in less than two weeks. In that way, she’s like her mother. I enjoy reading, but am not able to read that rapidly. Both Luca and her mom read five book to my one.

I came home from work a few hours early today. After saying hello to the kids and the dog, I had to get back on email. As I was getting situated at my computer, Luca pulled a chair next to me. As I was about to tell her I needed a few minutes to myself, she told me that she wasn’t there to bother me.

All she wanted to do was sit next to me and read. And that’s what she did for the next 30 minutes while I worked through email.

When I was young I enjoyed watching my dad repair stuff around the house. I’d follow him around the yard from one task to the next. I probably got in his way more than a few times. But I never remember him shooing me away.

I remember one morning I ran outside to find my dad repairing a bike under the carport. He was working on the chain, and he had grease all over his hands, arms and face. I sat on the porch watching my father become ever more frustrated. The bike was not cooperating.

Of course, I had a few questions that quickly turned to suggestions. But my father was patient. He spoke to me in a calm tone while tinkering with the bike. Occasionally he sent me to the storage room where his tools were kept.

To this day, I don’t remember whose bike he was repairing. In fact, I’m not sure he was ever able to repair it. But I enjoyed the time I spent with my father. Seldom were my sisters around. It was just me and my dad.

There are times when I want to keep everyone, especially our children, away from an area while I work. Too often I ask Kim to take them to another part of the house so I can concentrate on the task at hand.

The next time I feel that way, I’m going to remember my father and the bike.

And if I end up with a little grease on my face, I bet my kids will overlook it.