This past Monday we trekked down Highway 6 on a special mission. With Alexis in the back and Brooke in the front, we went to pick up Uncle Kirk from a recital in Hamilton.
The heat wave that has gripped most of the Midwest United States and now Ontario made for a sunny drive, aided only by the soft purr of the air conditioner in the truck. What a scorcher it was.
As we drove along talk turned to career choices.
At a little over 12 years old, we suspect the ideas will change again. But, as the girls talked away about the merits of being Prime Minister, or school teacher or (gulp) a Newspaper proprietor, we drifted off to a lifetime ago when two little souls came into this world with nary a peep.
We wrote a column at that time about twins A & B, and the miracle on Main Street. As we edged closer to the infamous cut-off to McMaster, talk changed from careers to their meagre beginnings. Questions rattled out, looking for answers as to what they did, how they looked and so on. And as has become their custom, the formidable question of how dad felt, or if he cried, popped out.
All these years later – 12 plus a couple weeks to be exact – the truth is there were more than a few tears shed watching helpless little people battle to live. Boy, are we glad they fought hard.
Today they are young ladies entering grade 7 in the fall. Their little sister Chloe adores them and their instincts with her are a joy to watch. Mom certainly appreciates the help.
As we drove, after the whole did-you-cry-dad thing, flitting back and forth from street names on a map, the girls read off signs with the interest and intensity of early explorers. As we swung by one section of street they sensed some familiarity and recalled the time we took them to the Bear in the Big Blue House show. That too was a lifetime ago.
Within a few short blocks, we picked up their uncle and headed for home for a little family get together. Once dinner was over, dad headed back to work to get some things finished up, before loading up the family and heading to Ottawa in the morning.
As the evening drifted into midnight, the paper was laid out, final memos were completed, pay cheques were signed and this editorial was underway.
Earlier in the evening, while laying out the paper, the celebration page caught our eye. Perhaps it was the mood of the events earlier in the day that made it stand out more prominently in our mind this week.
Celebrations of all sorts – from anniversaries, to coming nuptials, to births and birthdays – were being announced.
It is great to see people enjoying happy times. People deserve that; actually, people need that.
Regrettably, the ups and downs of life don’t allow for happy all the time. If alert, we owe it to others finding it a little difficult or suffering through a tough time to be empathetic. Good times often return if given enough space.
It’s those tough times that sure make us appreciate the good in our lives all the more.
