Quinn – 1992 – Fire emergency training – Pre-School
Quinn – 2014 – Fire emergency training – Crew Certification School
14 minutes ago, in 2009, middle son Quinn on the road to college…
College ended yesterday, but the band played on…
Unfortunately, my wife and I were not in the same country last night so we had to spend evening texting…
Anna: Happy New Year! xo
Sam: Happy New Year! I love you!
Anna: Wish we were ringing in a snowy new year together.
Sam: Me, too. xooxox
Henry: Could you guys take this elsewhere!
Anna: Oh, shit. We’re on group text.
Sam: Oops. Better ramp up the sexting on another channel.
Quinn: For the love of god!
Henry: Heading to roof for suicide attempt.
Which makes today’s victory, in his last regular season race, all the sweeter.
When the chicks were all in the nest, we took our connection for granted because we spent so much time in each other’s company.
Now that they’ve flown, we have to find new ways to stay connected while we’re far apart.
Exhibit A: This missive from Quinn arrived in each of our inboxes this morning…
Too bad Sylvie doesn’t get email ’cause she would REALLY appreciate his technique.
In the last week, two of the chicks have sent me a link to the same blog – one in which a parent posts pictures of his or her child crying, and writes funny captions describing the reasons the child is crying.
I laughed out loud at the first and second entries, then chuckled at the third. But as I kept going, I found myself increasingly uncomfortable. And sad. I felt badly for that smidgen, weeping so deeply at the injustices of his little life.
I stopped reading, opened iPhoto, and went looking through our thousands of pictures for shots of our sons crying.
There aren’t very many. Almost all of them seem to have involved an adult trying to force a snapshot on a chick who had better things to do.
The dearth of pictures of our chicks crying is not because there wasn’t a lot of crying in our house. We had all manner of crying: wails, moans, whimpers, shrieks and even the cry-so-hard-about-getting-new-shoes-you-puke-all-over-the-floor-of-the-shoe-store variety.
I wondered if we had missed something in all our years of picture taking. Scrolling through the shots of smiling, adorable faces, their childhoods do look pretty dang idyllic, devoid of tears. Did we, I wondered, do them some disservice by not recording the totality of their childhood experiences? Did we whitewash it so we’d look good, looking back?
Maybe so. But I think what happend was this: when one of them started to cry, we’d put down the camera and pick them up.