Clark and I took a walk together one recent summer afternoon, and I’ve barely started to write about that memory, and already my heart skipped a beat. Have you ever been in love with a boy? Then you know exactly how I feel.
When you walk with a boy like Clark, you quickly realize you’re not walking, but rather you’re exploring, discovering, and being present. Clark made his intentions clear: We were in search of the letter W, and STOP signs. S-T-O-P stop.
Here are just a few things we discovered during our walk:
1. Two STOP signs
2. Five Ws
3. Lots of caterpillars
4. One big J
5. A license plate with the letters A-A-M
6. A dog
7. My daughter receiving praise from two-year-old Clark on her excellent wagon-pulling skills
When our walk came to a stop, our choice of presence did not. We still needed to write our letters in chalk, but not before Clark took a moment to lean up against the car to pause, to breathe, to be. Our letter-writing was with great deliberation because rushing something as remarkable as the alphabet is simply a waste.
Did you know that a few sticks – when placed together on the sidewalk – can form virtually every letter of the alphabet? Clark showed me: Y, X, A, N, T, Z, K, and the list goes on.
Have you looked up to watch the last airplane that crossed high above you? Clark pointed.
Want to touch a caterpillar and feel it instantly coil into a ball? Clark did.
Does your giggle put a smile on someone else’s face? Clark’s does.
Can you effortlessly communicate instantaneous love? Clark is.
I want to live my life, pulling a virtual wagon with Clark sitting in it encouraging me, “Mimi do it!”, as he clutches a piece of chalk in his hand – ready to write his letters as soon as we see an opening on the sidewalk.
Perhaps I need to more frequently S-T-O-P stop, lean back, and breathe, keeping a ready supply of chalk to write my letters, my loves, my laughs, my life, before my presence has faded or washed away. Clark showed me how.