We were near the Oakland Hills, so I asked him if he wanted to go to Redwood Regional Park. My boy does love the trees; even in his sleepy state he was up for a walk in the woods.
We got there nice and early. Only one car was in the lot when we pulled in; and elderly fellow and his dog were hanging out at a picnic table under a tree. I let Jack dictate our route. He has so few opportunities to be in charge of his life-- someone is always telling him where to be, how fast or slow to go. Today, as much as possible, I gave him the lead.
We checked out some paths that we hadn't seen before. Tried one direction that came to a sort of dead end. I kept my mouth shut (hard for me to do sometimes) and let Jack figure out what to do next. I watched him look around and pick a new direction. Awesome. I try to remember to do that; let Jack know that he has the ability to figure this stuff out for himself, and that I trust his judgment. Kids need to know we believe in them. Hard for them to get that message sometimes when we jump in too soon
Often Jack loves to race ahead of me. The wide paths at Redwood are perfect for this. There aren't many people for him to encounter, so I feel safe to let him take off and experience some autonomy and speed. He did some of this today, but mostly, Jack drove incredibly slowly. I watched him looking at everything-- the shadows in the trees, the cloud of flies buzzing in their geometric pattern and moving apart as he drove through, the hummingbirds and sparrows that flitted across his path. Again, I remained pretty quiet, just observing my son's interaction with the woods.
I started to tell you that it was quiet today, but it wasn't really. There were very few human noises, but there was a rich accompaniment to our foray. So many bird calls, a woodpecker tapping out a beat on a nearby tree, wild turkeys gobbling in the distance, and the creature running through the brush that might have been a yeti, but was most likely a deer. We rolled along soaking it all in, and I found myself thinking about the fact that Jack doesn't talk. He does vocalize, but that's not his main method of interacting with the world. This can put some folk off, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes wish he could tell me in words what he's thinking or feeling, but Jack does communicate, and he's taught me so much about listening in a whole new way.
I've had to learn to listen with all of myself. To slow down my racing, demanding mind and to breathe into my moments with him. Jack communicates with his entire being, whereas I'm often lazy and rely upon words. I like words. A lot. The past 15 years have taken me out of my comfort zone and into one that requires me to be fully present in order to connect with this boy who brings me such indescribable joy. Funny that I'm trying to find the words to convey this; it's about the pattern of his breath, the look in his eyes, the way he holds his body. It's about the understanding that passes between us when I slow down long enough to really listen with more than my ears.
Here's the thing: today, I was able to take in the gift. I got us to the woods, and Jack did the rest. He set the pace; one slow enough to be able to notice the beauty and sounds around us. On this day, I was able to slow my internal drive enough to be with him at his pace. I breathed the delicious piney air, I watched him interact with the beauty, saw the smile that beamed across his face, and my heart sang. I've said it before, and it's true: Jack is proof that one doesn't earn blessings. I could never have been good enough to earn all the riches that my son brings to my life. I'm grateful for the moments that I'm able to be present, to remember to feel all of this goodness and beauty. I'm grateful to have been given such an amazing teacher, and that I get to call him my son.
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