Koda waited anxiously for his name to be called, his feet tucked tightly under his desk. It was something he did, almost a compulsion. He did it to hide his shoes. They were hand-me-downs, like nearly everything else in his wardrobe, and at least a size too big. They used to be white with a long blue stripe down the side but now were yellow from age and dirt. Even when they were bright-white and new, they were ugly shoes. They were the cheapest, blandest, sneakers you could buy at Walmart. He knew because he was there when his parents bought them for his older brother.
Koda looked down at his shoes as he repositioned them under his desk. The left shoe had a new lace, white and clean which looked out of place on the worn shoe, especially compared to the right shoe with its old frayed lace. Why his mother hadn’t replaced both laces he could never understand. He had asked her to, she simply smiled, gave him a curious look and replied very matter-of-factly that he only needed one.
The first day of school was always the hardest for Koda. Everyone came in their new clothes. Brand name jeans with strategically placed rips, t-shirts with famous logos, and of course, their new shoes. Koda noticed shoes. All of the unblemished, new shoes shuffling down the halls made his yellowed hand-me-downs all the dirtier in comparison.
The first day also meant ice-breakers, introductions, and stupid little scavenger hunts for things around the classroom like the recycle bin and class rules chart. He hated the thought of standing up in front of the class, mumbling his name and an interesting fact about himself. At least he had gotten a seat at the back of the class, thanks to a little bit of understanding from his dad.
Koda begged his dad the night before to drop him off extra early. His argument had been that their car was old, loud and ugly. His dad had laughed and insisted he liked the ugly old car but Koda persisted, and even though his argument hadn’t been eloquent, it had worked. When they pulled up to the school, Koda thought his dad looked sad. As he reached for the door handle, his dad had put his large hand on Koda’s shoulder and looked him in his eyes. Koda could tell it was important because his dad wasn’t smiling and his dad was always smiling. Smiling, laughing and telling stupid jokes that made him laugh and smile even more. Koda wouldn’t admit it but he loved his dad’s stupid jokes. But in that moment, his dad looked serious. He pulled Koda toward him just an inch, still staring directly into his eyes like he was going to tell him a secret. After a moment, his dad took a deep breath and said, “Koda, you matter. Not the car you drive or the shoes you wear. But you, you matter.” His dad had poked the middle of his chest with his large index finger as he said the last two words.
Now, sitting in the back of the class, hiding his shoes and waiting for his name to be called, he remembered his dad’s words, “you matter.” His chest began to pulse where his Dad’s enormous finger had poked him. He could feel it growing warmer with each pulse until it was radiating from his chest and spreading slowly through his body. The warmth had reached his knees when his name was called. He passed neat rows of plastic desks and didn’t even notice the shoes beneath them. By the time he stood in front of the class, the warmth had reached the tips of his toes, filling his whole body.
He stood at the front of the class, smiled his dad’s smile and said proudly, “Hi, My name is Koda.”
n in jeans and boots chasing after him. The man is already sweating from the heat, swearing and yelling, “Peanut!” over and over.
Every once in a while I think about death, usually when I am peeling an apple. It sounds odd I know but let me explain. There is a scene in Sleepless in Seattle when Tom Hanks’ Character, Sam, is talking with his young son Jonah. Jonah tells his dad he is starting to forget his mom, who recently passed away. Sam begins to tell his son things about her, to help him remember. One of the things he says is, “She could peel an apple in one long, curly strip.”
ak the starry night sky. Everyone except for Emerson. His fragile arms are wrapped tightly around his mother’s neck, gripping tighter and tighter with every thundering blast. As the show wears on, slowly his expression changes from horror to amusement. Even though his face beamed with a smile by the finale, his arms still clung tight to his mother’s neck.
It’s been nearly two years since my last post. There are nearly a dozen blog posts sitting in my drafts incomplete that I have failed to finish while two years of life flew by. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, vacations, jobs and more have passed since my last post. As my life settles into a routine, I feel as if I have failed to notice the stars again. I am overlooking those amazing moments in day to day life that should inspire me. My son welcoming me home with open arms and a smile, my wife sitting in the car next to me and placing her hand on mine, or any one of the million magical little moments I dismiss as mundane. I think it’s time I begin to find excitement in the everyday again.
e darkness. It doesn’t keep us from jumping at every owl that hoots or every pair of raccoon eyes we spot near the path. We are both afraid, at 10 and 12 years old though we would never admit it. We are afraid, but still, we follow deeper into the woods. We trust somehow Dad can see into the darkness. We trust that he knows the path so well he doesn’t need sunlight illuminating it. We trust him, and despite our fears, we walk through the pitch black woods.
g with the changing landscape. It’s a rare quiet moment in the bustle of our daily life. Suddenly the quiet is broken by a command from my son, “Langston’s window, go down please!” As he finishes the line, the window begins to lower, warm air rushes in and he smiles.
s.
rewarding. As the coach, one of my responsibilities during the game is to walk the kids up to the Tee when it’s their turn at bat. I help them with their stance and then yell, “Run!” when they hit the ball. Then I immediately follow that with “No! Other way! Run to first!” as they take off in the entirely wrong direction.
solitus sum 