Birth of a Texan Sized Goal

Today I went to the park with my grandson Henry. He is 21 months old. We walked the two blocks to the park, and when he finally saw it he yelled park Park PARK and took off running. He climbed and slid and swung and hung and crawled through tunnels. When he had the playground equipment out of the way he hunkered down to the sand.

He squatted on his haunches, knees up like a grasshopper, and sifted his fingers through the sand until he found a Popsicle stick and a tiny rock. The Popsicle stick was old and nasty dirty, and looked like it had once been stuck forever in a grape Popsicle. The rock was small and gray, and had sharp edges. One hand grasped the stick, the other, the rock. And those two hands weren't letting go of them for anything.

I watched that kid sit down on the sand and examine his finds. He used them to poke and dig and write. Then he laid down on his back and compared them to the sky. Then he flipped to his stomach for more sand moving. Then his back. Then his stomach. Then sand was in his hair. Then his shirt. Then I realized it was down the back of his pants. Then the front. Then his shoes and socks were filling up because there was some foot shuffling going on. Nobody but me seemed to care about the disgusting stick, or the sharp rock, or the sand seeping into every crevice.

At that moment, I had to ask myself: Exactly what things in my world would I be perfectly willing to roll around in the sand for? There was no delay in my answer: Absolutely NOTHING. I never want sand down my pants again. Ever. Ever, Never, Ever. For any reason. And I have decided after today, that this is one of my goals.

But in case you are mistaken, let me be clear: I HEARTILY enjoy the fact that there are people in this world who can, without a blink, pick up a stick teaming with bacteria and not flinch. And not only do they not flinch but they obviously see some value going on there that others don't see. And I love that there are people who can without angst pick out one rock from a million rocks and dub it as THE ROCK worth keeping, and then, on top of that, these people continue to party on, even though sand is collecting in their underpants that just happen to be moist.

I envy something in that. I really really do.

PS. Just in case you're wondering. I draw the line at bandaids. Nobody played with, or licked any bandaids in the making of this blog. In fact bandaids were treated with disdain and people were made to feel shameful and embarrassed and guilty if bandaids were even longingly looked at. And if that stifled anybody's growth, creativity, or ability to learn in the future, then so be it. I'm absolutely secure with my position.