Have You Seen Birds?
It’s one of those days as I walk the kids upstairs to get them ready for bed that I know it wasn’t my best as a parent. I was there, I just wasn’t present. And sometimes that’s worse.
Now, as they brush their teeth, laughing at some made-up language they’ve come up with, where every word needs to start with a C, I feel that old familiar hole in the pit of my stomach growing with guilt.
They finish with their teeth, get themselves all snug in their jammies, and we read books in my son’s room. My daughter picks a Pete the Cat story, which I’m sure I’ve read a hundred times, but she always smiles like it’s the first. So, I never say no.
She laughs when Pete says “groovy” and looks over at her brother and says “croovy.”
Then my son is next. He picks one called Have You Seen Birds? A book he’s borrowed from his school library. Last week, it was a deep dive into the lives of gulls, and this week it’s a whole plethora of other birds. Autumn birds, garden-summer birds, winter birds, spring birds, tall birds, town birds, woodland birds, you name it birds, they're all in there.
I’m reading along until I get to the night birds. The move-by-moonlight bright birds. There’s a full-page picture of an owl flying in with wide yellow hunter’s eyes. And this captures my son’s attention.
I’m about to turn the page, when he says, “I wish we had owls around here.”
I tell him we do. He says, “Well, how come I never see them?”
“Because they’re nocturnal.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means they sleep during the day and they’re awake at night, and I don’t plan on taking any night trips into the woods anytime soon, my boy.” I tousle his hair, and he giggles.
“They stay up all night?”
“Yup”
“I bet I could do that.”
“I’m sure you could.”
After I finish the book, I put my daughter to bed. Tuck her in tight, give her a drink of water, kiss her and tell her how much I love her. She says I love you too, daddy. And I say, croovy. She’s quick to let me know that I’m not supposed to speak their language. I apologize and close the door.
Then I head back to my son’s room where he’s laying with his hands interlocked behind the back of his head, like a pontificating middle aged man. Deep in thought. Trying to figure out the mysteries of the world. He’s so smart. He’s going to know more than me before long.
“They stay awake all night?”
I laugh. “Yes, they do.”
“I’m going to try that tonight.”
“Go right ahead. I love you, buddy. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I take a quick shower, and by the time I’m finished, I peek in to see my son softly snoring. Already a thousand miles away.
Better luck next time, kiddo.