Margin, Name and Date

A year ago, the boys entered a coloring contest at a local pizza place. At the top, it asked for your name, age and date. Manny dutifully filled out, "Manny, age 6, date, Starbucks." He thought it was asking for the location of your last date. We have been in the habit of taking them on "dates" in order to get individual face-time on occasion. I so savored the innocence in this.

Now, our eldest child is not only heading his papers with "margin, name and date" correctly but has appropriated a world of school-y behaviors. At turns, I marvel and grieve. In the morning, he wants to walk to upper campus with the older kids. This always reminds me of "Finding Nemo" when the sea turtles are swimming in that big current and "Crush" the surfer turtle observes his son saying, "Stand back and see what little dude does!" instead of intervening. My favorite is in the afternoon, the same current of kids flows downhill and I see him running with his backpack, today his face was stained with water ice from a classmate's birthday treat. This school, these children, have become his world. I observed him on the playground one afternoon playing this game called, "Bow to Your Partner." It takes place on this square log, maybe 6 feet long. One boy stands on one end and one on the other. They face eachother and bow. Then, using only the sides of their bodies, no arms or "leg wrapping" they essentially hip-check the other until he loses balance and falls off the log. It ends up these intense, wrestling of shoulder and torso, both boys hunched and trying to needle and shove the other off the log. The boy that wins remains on the log and takes on a new challenger. Boys wait in the line, cheering and coaching.

You can imagine me biting my lip, sweating and praying for my little guy. I have to say that it was just exhilarating to witness. Three or four times, I just saw Manny get in there, bow, and then engage in the game. Each time he lost but each time, he sustained his strength incrementally. One time, one of his peers said, "Manny, you're going to have to do better than that!" How can I explain the beauty in seeing him wrestle? Him in the mix, being a boy, being sharpened by those around him in this physical and athletic way. He wasn't the biggest but he wasn't the littlest. There were the broad boys, candidates for the lacrosse scholarships at Swarthmore. Then there were the wiry and quick ones, sweaty and ruthless, surfer hairdos obscuring their eyes. And then there was our Manny, stepping up for his turn, smiling his front-toothless smile.