A Good Word

The occasion, a party celebrating a boy’s 4^th birthday. The location, a farm a short drive from Charleston. Some of the picnic tables were in the shade of a mature live oak, all of us and the tree under a spring-blue sky and late-morning sun.

A number of former colleagues showed for this gathering, nearly a homecoming for me after 3 years of retirement.  Scampering about, children—a handful I remembered back when, tucked into adult arms like loaves of bread—now walking and talking, running and sliding and swinging, some hanging together like cousins.

With the adults, hugs, a bit scuttlebutt exchanged, laughter, some diverted by their attentiveness to children as needed. A type of peace, like an easiness in the saddle, embraced us, this timeout of sorts, a weekend morning for those still working. Teachers and counselors and administrators and supporting staff—all those that I worked with, the kind of folks you tell your kid to go see when there is a problem.

The birthday boy shared his morning of fame, weaving among the children and allowing a few words here and there for adults. He was more generous with his hugs. Slender and wide-eyed, with his smiles he roped us in. In truth, a lot of us needed no corralling, we were right there in the moment with him.

During the drive home I wondered how many birthday parties were underway across the country. All the turmoil of the world arrested by a focus on children. A war-weary world at times—do those who maim and kill children parent with such kindness of spirit?

But all such horrors—and a lot of simpler concerns—were vanquished from that place in time. Even as the children coursed on with their children-ness, a very particular kind of calm settled our world for those few hours.

Today, in thinking of the scene, that atmosphere, there are words I wonder about that may these days seem like throw-away words, but if so, they shouldn’t be let go. Pleasant, lovely, delightful. And no need for super to convey the moment.

It was, it seemed to me, all good.