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I try to be Christ-like. I try to do the right things. I try to say the right words. I try to think the right thoughts.
I try to smile at people as they pass. I try to support the appropriate causes. I try to love my neighbors even when they don’t love me back. I try to be kind and supportive to those in need.
Every day, I try to be like Christ.
Every day, I fail. I laugh at the wrong joke. I pass judgment on someone else’s life. I turn a blind eye to life’s injustice.
“What if every tow truck ran out of gas?”
“How do bodies get to heaven after they’ve been buried?”
“‘Si usted está contento y usted sabe que aplaudas! That means, ‘If you’re happy and you know it clap you hands!”
It’s not unusual for a period of 15 minutes with Squirts to follow this or some similar line of conversation. Sometimes, it’s like trying to chase popcorn. Just when you think you know where a topic is headed…pop, we’re off in another direction.
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Recently, we celebrated Squirts’ fifth birthday. Could that be right? His fifth birthday? There are many days I don’t feel old enough to have a five-year-old son. Of course, most days I’m reminded (by either my body or my wife) that I’m easily old enough to have a 20-year-old son, to say nothing of a five-year-old. But that’s another story.
We kicked off what has become an annual weeklong celebration by telling Squirts he could choose to eat anywhere he’d like on his actual birthday. The week then followed with cupcakes at school, a bowling party with friends, and a family party with his Aunt K who shares a birthday the same month. By the time it’s all over, it feels like we should start prepping for his sixth!
Watching Squirts throw a ball – or anything else – is like watching a physics experiment in kinetic energy. The act of launching the object from his hand involves some aspect of every visible part of his body. As his right hand pulls back with the ball, his left arm juts out with a fist curled under. His tongue sticks out in one direction or another, often giving away the final destination of the object in question. His eyes either squeeze shut or bulge open. And at the last moment his left leg lifts and swings in an awkward arch in an attempt to make the ball fly as far as possible.
If he could raise both legs at the same time, he’d probably give it a shot.
