His Wranglers and Tony Lamas were broken in to that soft, but not too-distressed phase. He walked with a purpose – chest puffed out, arms swinging, head held high.
Even though it was only 4 degrees outside, he didn’t bother with zipping his ranch coat. There was no need for gloves.
He strutted back and forth in front of my vehicle. He was confident and independent.
…
His dad didn’t hold his hand. Not even once.
He was all of four years old. I could tell by the license plate on his dad’s Dodge Ram that they were from one of the outlying ranches. They’d come to town to run some errands. Mom was home with the rest of the family.
This was his day to hang with dad.
All by himself.
…
I was parked outside the building where Jen and Will take guitar lessons. I was waiting in the running car, doing some writing, and taking a break.
I couldn’t help but watch this young cowboy as he strutted down the sidewalk.
His dad acted like a graduate of the Love and Logic School of Parenting, only I’m damn sure no one could ever talk this guy into taking a parenting class. “Hell, ya love ’em, give ’em room to figure it out, and tell ’em to get back up on the horse when they fall. Oh, and leave the mushy stuff to mom.”
I imagine he was thinking, “If his hands are cold, he’ll put on some mittens. He knows how to zip a jacket, he’s four years old. He knows enough to stick with me, I don’t need to hold his hand.”
Every now and then, dad would say a few words over his shoulder. His face held a kind expression. I couldn’t hear the words, but the young cowboy started to walk faster, eyes sparkling.
They went into the tax office.
I saw them come back out and head down the other direction. Dad was on a mission. Cowboy was content to follow and try his best to keep up.
Just before my kids came out of their lesson, dad and cowboy walked over to their truck. This was no small ranch truck.
Standing on the tips of his boots, cowboy reached up to grab the handle of the passenger side door. It was a major effort to balance on toes and pull up the handle at the same time.
I fought the urge to open my car door, help him with the truck door and boost his cute little Wrangler butt into the seat. I thought better and stayed put.
He managed the door, and climbed up into the seat. Once he got in position, he realized his arm wasn’t long enough to reach the truck door to pull it closed.
Dad didn’t reach across to help, or get out to do the job himself, as I would have.
Instead, cowboy backed down from the way-up-high truck seat. Before climbing back up, he positioned the door so that it wouldn’t be open quite as far. He looked up to gauge his hike, and proceeded to climb up again. This time, the door was closer, and he could reach it.
His dad didn’t have to tell him how to fix that problem.
Cowboy figured it out.
All by himself.
As they pulled out into traffic, cowboy looked at me and grinned with pride at his accomplishment.
Good Noticing, Jesse. Thanks for the story!
Susan,
Thanks.
This noticing takes practice, but it sure is rewarding.
Suddenly, I realize I can’t wait to see what the day will bring.
What a cool little Cowboy. Sounds like he knew his dad was with him all the way – otherwise, you would have seen uncertainty or fear on his face, you would have heard some whining going on. Instead, he knew he could do it – ’cause Dad knew he could do it. What a great dad.
Pat,
Yep, I bet cowboy grows up to be a fine man.
You’re definitely a writer Jesse. Thanks for letting me share that little cowboy through your words x
Tina,
Thanks for saying that. Seriously. That’s a compliment I embrace with open arms.
Wish I’d taken a picture of the little guy. Hope my words did him justice.
That was an awesome piece. By George, I think you’ve got it! Very confident, subtle and complete. Congratulations!
Bruce,
Thank you, kind sir.
You ought to know. :)
I kept holding my breath waiting for the catastrophic element…guess I’ve heard too may devastating child/parent stories in my time.
Thanks for a lovely, poignant read Jesse.
Linda,
I know… as I was watching the scene unfold, I half expected the dad to yell for cowboy to hurry up, or for cowboy to get teary and whiny because his hands were cold.
In the end, I felt privileged to be the fly on the wall – able to observe the wonderful in the ordinary.
“He knows enough to stick with me, I don’t need to hold his hand.”
I took the twins out for breakfast the other day. I try to do it once a month. I think it’s good to have some ‘daddy only’ time and besides… mommy loves it when she gets to sleep late.
Both of the girls did just that. They knew exactly how far they could go without setting off the daddy alarms. They had pushed that boundary enough. I’m proud of how well they behave in situations like that.
So proud, in fact, that I made ’em hold my hand just because.
-J
Hello John,
Nice to see you here. I have a warm image in my mind of you and your adorable twins walking hand-in-hand.
There’s not much sweeter than a good dad who isn’t afraid to show the world how much he loves being a dad.