I remember how much I used to love saturday mornings. I’d get up, turn on the TV and watch cartoons as long as possible, until my parents forced me to go outside and play, saying something about how much more fun it is outside, or that I need to get outside and burn off some energy.
This morning, 30 years later, I heard my wife say “Jack, why don’t you go outside and play,” and it dawned on me. I don’t know why this escaped me. They tossed me outside to get me out of their hair! They had work to do. Just as I do today. The whole house needs cleaning, there is yard work to do, and the never ending laundry.
Suddenly I am entirely envious of my son. I remember the carefree days of playing out in the back yard, finding things to entertain myself, and left up to my own devices to learn about the world that was my back yard. I think those days banished to the back yard helped form me into what I am today. I still love being outside, I still love to see how mother nature works, and I still delight in bugs and sticks.
As a grown up, when was the last time we laid down in the grass to watch clouds roll by without the worry of getting our shirt or pants dirty? Why do we suddenly care about the things that don’t matter?