This is why

September 10th, 2012

It’s dark when I wake on Sunday morning, dark when I slip into the shower, keeping it short before the sound of the water wakes Boychen. It’s dark when SB stage-whispers “Hello, Mama” to let me know that he is awake even before I need to wake him. It’s dark when I make coffee in the kitchen behind the closed door and tip-toe around the stove scrambling eggs for the Small Boy, hoping we don’t wake anybody. It’s just turning light as I pour black tea into my thermos, hand SB a piece of bread for the car ride, grab my to-go cup of coffee. It’s 6:35 on Sunday morning when we get in the car, the Small Boy and I, shutting our doors softly.

Sonnenaufgang, sunrise.

Hockey today, eight 21-minute games starting at 7:45. The players need to be in the locker room by seven. We’re lucky this time, the tournament is in a neighboring town. We can sleep in a bit, take the time to scramble eggs and eat at the table rather than eating peanut-butter roll-ups in the car.

I do this, bleary eyed, joke-complaining with the other parents in the stadium restaurant at 7:05, because when Small Boy gets on the ice he is ten feet tall. He’s not the best player on the team, he’s not one of those stand-out kids who you can’t help but watch, shaking your head in a kind of wonder (although he’s turning into a mighty impressive goalie). He’s right where he needs to be, safely slotted in the upper-middle, better at some things than at others. But this boy, when he plays hockey, this boy of mine makes me shake my head in a kind of wonder. I can’t get over it, I love to watch him play, watch him discover himself.

This boy of mine, at sunrise.