It’s something that transcends age and understanding. That much was clear after spending an otherwise trying afternoon at Busch Gardens yesterday. It was the reason we subjected ourselves to the unrelenting heat of a summer afternoon in the concrete jungle of a central Florida theme park. It was the reason we kept trying to get in, even after we discovered that the parking lot and two of the over-flow lots were closed. It was the reason I waited in the drop off circle (to drop everyone else off), and drove five miles to U.S.F. to park at the Sun Dome and take a bus back to the park. It was the reason I ate some of the toughest baby-back ribs I’ve ever strained a neck muscle over.
All of that was forgotten when the fireworks started and Adam woke up. There were the four of us staring at the lights in the sky. My fatigue was completely forgotten, seeing the look on Adam’s face as he stared with joy and wonder at his first Fourth of July celebration.
There would be plenty of time to suffer the aches and pains of a “day at the park” on the ride home.
As it turns out “pathos” is not a Greek word for disease. I had a delightfully witty opening for this entry, all built on a faulty assumption. Drat!
Any-hoo, this entry must go on.
The scarcity of entries this past week can be blamed on my irrational preoccupation with a project for the office, and a week long training session that I’d tell you about, but I’m worried it might cause another flashback. “Do you or someone you love suffer from the effects Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?”
What do you call someone who works for little, does it because he likes it, doesn’t complain, does extra work at home, and wouldn’t be allowed to use (at the office) the stuff he creates at home IF he asked permission? Most people call me John, but my friends call me John.
It is after 1 a.m. and I do not want to be awake. It seems that my infant son has made the choice for me. Ten minutes after the deed was done, my infant son (the incredibly lovable little guy) is fast asleep. Not so for poor ole’ dad.
**Written in a daze last week, but forgotten until now.