Driving home from dinner tonight,
I watched a little girl, preoccupied with
the pattern on the pavement outside a store,
bump into someone and almost dart out into the
street. Luckily the person she bumped into
made the little girl look up and run towards
her mother, who was several feet away engrossed
in a cell phone conversation. I wanted to gather
up that little girl and keep her safe. I wanted
to shake some sense into her mother.
It made me think of when I was young, whenever
my dad took us out (me, my 3 older brothers & my
older sister) he would always say, "Grab a pocket,"
and we would instinctively know to grab one of his
jeans pockets if his hands were already taken. I'm
sure it looked funny, this mob of an adult and 5 kids
all attached like one giant octopus. But I loved it.
The safety, the fun, tucking my little fingers into his
back pocket, the smell of those Wrangler jeans
synonymous with my father.
It's easy to forget about those tiny moments that
add up to so much. Walking safely into Bamberger's
or the Pathmark with my dad, knowing if I was with him
I was safe and loved. Teaching me lessons I never realized
would dictate how I care and love for my own children
someday. And then one night, driving home from dinner,
you see someone lose sight of their child, and it reminds you
how important those moments were. And how grateful it feels
to be reminded of them now.
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