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.

[audio:https://blog.nordquist.org/audio/waterfall.mp3%5D

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.