Imagination - LJ Idol, Season 9, Week 6
His small hand slips into mine as he readies himself to jump from the van door to the pavement below. Almost as soon as his feet touch earth, his hand is gone so he can run to the grass area in front of our van. So much energy, I think with a smile, I closing and locking the door behind him.
"Come on, Pete," I call to him. "We need to get you in the classroom." Without hesitation, he is by my side once more, hand slipping in to mine for the walk across the parking lot. It isn't long before he begins skipping, his jacket billowing behind him in the breeze of his movements.
"Your skipping is getting better," I tell him, giving his hand a little squeeze.
Without looking up, he tells me, "I'm not skipping, Mama. I'm jumping over lava!" It's only then that I notice that each time he rises into the air it is to assure he doesn't step on a crack in the pavement.
I feign horror. "Not lava! What are we gonna do? I don't know if I can jump over lava."
He raises his head, blue eyes twinkling with his smile. "Don't worry, Mama. I'll help. Just jump when I tell you."
The rest of the short walk is the two of us, jumping over cracks as we get closer and closer to the door. Each other parent that I pass gives me a knowing smile. They're only young once. Eventually, a crack will just be a crack instead of a path of lava or a raging river. Too quickly will I be Mom instead of Mama, and his hand won't fit completely in mine. I need to take advantage of these moments while I can so that, someday when he has children of his own, he'll remember how much fun he had with their grandmother when he was a little boy, jumping over cracks himself.
"Come on, Pete," I call to him. "We need to get you in the classroom." Without hesitation, he is by my side once more, hand slipping in to mine for the walk across the parking lot. It isn't long before he begins skipping, his jacket billowing behind him in the breeze of his movements.
"Your skipping is getting better," I tell him, giving his hand a little squeeze.
Without looking up, he tells me, "I'm not skipping, Mama. I'm jumping over lava!" It's only then that I notice that each time he rises into the air it is to assure he doesn't step on a crack in the pavement.
I feign horror. "Not lava! What are we gonna do? I don't know if I can jump over lava."
He raises his head, blue eyes twinkling with his smile. "Don't worry, Mama. I'll help. Just jump when I tell you."
The rest of the short walk is the two of us, jumping over cracks as we get closer and closer to the door. Each other parent that I pass gives me a knowing smile. They're only young once. Eventually, a crack will just be a crack instead of a path of lava or a raging river. Too quickly will I be Mom instead of Mama, and his hand won't fit completely in mine. I need to take advantage of these moments while I can so that, someday when he has children of his own, he'll remember how much fun he had with their grandmother when he was a little boy, jumping over cracks himself.