I sat in the gymnasium and watched my six-year-old Kindergartener race against his classmates. It was Field Day at Bartlett Elementary School. The unseasonably cool and wet weather forced the activities of the day indoors. I had slipped in late, missing most of the activities. I saw his cotton top head in the midst of his friends. He was unaware of my presence.
All eight Kindergarten classes were lined up in jumbled rows, alternating boys and girls all dressed in their Field Day tie-dye t-shirts labeled "Peace, Love and Tug-of-War". Each class had its unique color. The PE teacher was shouting instructions in the PA system, "Ready, set, GO!" The kids would race from one end of the gym to the other with parents sitting in the bleachers cheering, shouting and rooting for their child and his or her class. It was a vision of controlled chaos.
It was Coleman's turn to race. He stood at the starting line with his competitors, his easily distracted mind drawn away by all the activity. "Ready, set, GO!" the command was blared and the race was on. Coleman was a step or two behind most of the boys because when the signal was given he was neither "ready" nor "set".
Regaining his sense of the moment, Coleman kicked it into high gear. The exuberance in his expression, the passion in his furrowed brow and the grit of his clenched jaw revealed his determination. He did well considering the late start and was able to catch up to finish second or third. Kindergarten Field Day competitions aren't necessarily an exact science.
I focused on my son. He really had no concern about who won the race. He was having fun. A huge smile spread across his face, his once cute little toothy grin now marred by a front tooth so loose it could almost open and shut like a garage door. He's so protective of that tooth, none of us can convince him to let us pull it out. No amount of bribery has worked.
As he made his way back to his classmates, I thought about how precious this time in his life is. He's still so young and innocent. His heart is so pure. On the way to school today he said, "Whenevoe I get a puppy I'm gonna name him God." Baffled I asked, "You're gonna name your puppy God?" He said, "It's 'cause I love God." He'll be in First Grade next year. Our daughter is advancing to Sixth Grade and Middle School. Our oldest son is finishing his Junior Year, Senior Year and graduation are just a year away.
All these little moments, teeth falling out, waiting at the bus stop, soccer games, speech impediments, funny things like naming puppies "God", stops at the ice cream shoppe, wrestling on the floor, playing "Sleeping Queens" card game or Pictureka or HeadBanz, bike rides, hikes in the park, climbing trees, etc. they pass by so quickly. My dad and mom keep telling us to enjoy this time because before we realize it, the kids will be grown and out on their own. At 77 and 70 they've now lived longer without us at home than with us there. These days and these passing moments I suppose are like vapors of water that appear for a moment then are gone forever. "Relish this" I remind myself.
As I kept my gaze fixed on Coleman, I watched him sit down with his class to wait another chance to race. He looked up and saw me. His face erupted into pure joy at the sight of me, the snaggle tooth making him look like one of the hillbillies from "Deliverance". He punched his buddy to point me out in the crowd. "That's my dad" I saw him saw, reading his lips. He waved wildly and I gave him two thumbs up.
The races continued. Several rounds of kids competed. The call for the boys to race was given. I looked up and saw one young man, disabled, walking up to the starting line pushing a four-wheeled walker. The signal was given, the boys took off and the handicapped kid was left in their dust. But here he came, intense, with purpose, giving it all he had. He was last to cross the finish line but the way the bleachers cheered while he ran and the way they exploded as he crossed the finish line you wouldn't have known it. I was trying to muster up a cheer of my own but my throat was so knotted up with emotion from what I had just witnessed nothing came out of my mouth. I sat back down and wiped the tears from my eyes.
Field Day was over. I joined Coleman and his classmates for lunch on the playground, the sun had come out and the pavement was dry. Coleman introduced me to Alison, his newest "gurrfwend". She is a cute little Latina girl with long brown hair and deep brown eyes. Her beauty was only marred by an upper lip that was severely chapped and crusty looking. Oh well, Coleman didn't seem to mind. He put on a show for her making her laugh and causing her to explain, "Coleman, you so fooney!"
There are just a few days left in the school year. Summer is near. Another summer to make memories. There'll be road trips, visiting Papa, Nana and Grandma. Thinking about a trip to Gettysburg, PA and Hershey, PA while we're in Ohio. Summer youth camps are also on the agenda. Coleman's tooth will fall out, followed by others, and for a short while he'll look like a hockey player. We'll take pictures to remember these moments. And we'll savor them because, like a vapor, they'll be here today and then quickly disappear.
God's Word says that is the sum total of our lives: vapors.
James 5:14 says, "...What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes." Life is short and the memorable moments even shorter. So invest your life, your time, your energy in what will live beyond your short life. Invest in your marriage, invest in your children, invest in your loved ones. Invest in the most important relationship: your personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Invest in His cause, the cause of reconciling lost humanity to Himself. The only legacy we can truly leave behind is the people we have loved and poured ourselves into. It transforms the summation of our lives from disappearing vapors into substance that will remain forever.
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