Slowing down

Most of life’s thinking moments seem to be getting quieter. Although at first glance this statement may seem a bit oxymoronic in the context of the ever increasing pace of modern life. It now seems that many of the corners of my existence which used to be filled with activity are now paced only by the gentle beating of my own heart.

I noticed the change most profoundly on the first day of school this fall. My habit, born of years with a long commute, is to rise from bed very early, exercise, and then pursue wakefulness with a cup of coffee and our local paper. Although I teach at the University and my first classes do not start until ten, I still maintain this habit as a form of self imposed penance for all the years wasted sleeping until the crack of noon. As I sat at the kitchen bar in my usual semi-conscious state sipping my drink offering to the gods of Starbucks I was reminded of the fact that this was the first day of school for my children.

For some reason I am always a bit nostalgic at times like this (ok, I get nostalgic during hallmark commercials) and I began to reminisce about the many first days of school experienced by my kids. Kelsea, our oldest, faced school with a wave and a smile that brought tears to her mother’s face as we dropped her off for the first day of kindergarten. Not to be outdone, her brother never even looked back at us as he bravely faced the unknown rigors of colors, letters, and counting. But I don’t remember the emotion of these days in the same way that my wife does; I am reminded instead of all of the stress involved in preparing those brave little children for that first fateful day of school. There were baths, followed by some yelling, a tantrum, and a mild argument about which pair of Osh-kosh-by-gosh would make the best first impression. This was followed by the immediate “hurry-up or you’ll miss the bus” warnings that fell on selectively deaf ears.

But things are noticeably different in the house now. Kelsea and Mason have their own alarm clocks in their own rooms, filled with their own clothes and music making gizmo’s. This morning, all I can hear from the bedrooms above me are the gentle tones of whatever rap group Mason is playing on his headphones. The really weird thing is that I know they have both already showered, and they are now decking themselves out in whatever it was that they bought with their mother on the “back-to-school” shopping sprees of the last few days.

All while I drink coffee and read the paper!

Within minutes of each other, both of these wonderful pseudoadults are bouncing down the stairs looking for enough physical sustenance to make it to hot lunch and square pizza. Again, they do not need me to do anything! Each finds the cereal, bowls of appropriate size, milk and other various utensils and condiments. They make quick work of it, pausing long enough to wave good-bye to dad, before they are off to the road for a morning chat with friends and a raucous bus ride to school.

Moments later their mother, my wife, appears and causally asks me if the kids are down yet? Down? Their gone!

To be sure, not every morning is quite like this one but they are beginning to add up with stunning regularity. It makes me wonder if these small steps of independence are God’s way of letting me know that soon, my life will be full of quiet moments and I will be left to contemplate the investments I have made in the lives of those who have now passed me by. Is this middle-aged reflection nothing but the first tremor of the beginning of old age? If it is, I like it… at least so far.