Before the Grandson Wakes Up

A small backyard in Waltham, Massachusetts. A carefully tended patch of grass held by a rectangle of granite stones lies still under the clear blue sky and the hum of air conditioners in the early morning. By the garage, two Jack-and-the-beanstalk type sunflower plants rise above a minor jungle of tomatoes and peppers. They hold their proud heads aloft to capture the first rays of the morning sun—already risen but as yet invisible to us shorter creatures.

I’m glad to be alone in the coolness and the contained beauty of this space. A brightly colored plastic toddler slide brings the disruption of real life to the contained orderliness of the yard. Life is happening here, within this growing family where I am just an occasional visitor—father, father-in-law and grandfather. I appreciate the complex web of interconnection that constructs the launch pad for the next generation.

As of yet, the little adventurer is still innocently toddling. Delighted by cars, trucks, flowers and dirt, he lives fully and fiercely within the benevolent containment of his privileged life. He knows only this—there is no possibility for comparison. He allows us serve and protect him without question. Without question we are delighted and amazed.

There is no other world for him—or for any of us.

No matter how big our vision, no matter how deeply we may penetrate the mysteries of the universe, we are all held and protected within the immensity of wonder. And yet within our necessary limitations, nothing is left out—nothing is lacking.

The warmth of my morning tea is pleasant against the coolness of the morning. Memories of and ancient life as father and husband of a young family flit within me like darting birds. Human families of all shapes, sizes, colors and clothings. Forever repeating and exploring the patterns of humanity. We play our preassigned roles with as much grace and determination as we are allowed—burrowing into the beating heart of things right where we are.