Call & Response

I reported for jury duty last week empty-handed. Intentionally empty-handed. I considered bringing something to read. I even told a few people I forgot my book, as if I needed as excuse for not having something else to do while we waited. But the truth is I really wanted to be there. By which I mean both that I wanted to be there -- as in, I was looking forward to it. And, also, that I wanted to be there -- as in, I didn't want a mental escape.

As I sat in the jury assembly room, then the courtroom gallery and finally the jury box, I was surprised to find that what started as a stranger-in-a-strange-land feeling quickly gave way to a this-land-is-your-land-this-land-is-my-land feeling and has been winding its way around my mind all week, drawing ever more emphatic circles around a no-man-is-an-island feeling.

Now my job a a juror hasn't been much at all like my job as a parent, or as a teacher. But in each of these cases the stakes are high, the facts often elusive, and perspective can be hard to find -- let alone hold. Many days, in all of these settings, the only thing I am completely certain about is my presence. I show up. I do not often shirk, or wince, and I only rarely run screaming from a room. A lot of the time, I even pay thoughtful attention. Still, I think it's the being there that's most important. The call and response.

It's such a common theme with parents, right?...You're having a nightmare? "I'm here." You're riding a horse? "I'm here" You're walking on a balance beam? "I'm here." You're climbing high on a rope web? "I'm here." You're sledding down a snowy hillside? "Hey, hey, look at that -- high five!"...We parents tend to be there. A lot. Because we want to be? Absolutely. Because our children want us to be? Of course. Because we might feel guilty otherwise? Sure. Because safety, common sense and sometimes even the law requires it? That, too.

But you know why else? You know why we I think we ALL do it -- why we all respond to the call of other living creatures? Because in those moments of being there for someone or something else -- and sometimes only for those moments -- it is possible to know, without question, that we are not each in this world alone. We are in it unequivocally together. Which means it is always possible, if you listen closely enough, that there is someone else somewhere saying: "You need me? I'm here."

That Smell

The temperature has hovered near freezing in San Francisco for the past few days. The skies are dark, wet, and -- I don't know -- heavy somehow. Perfectly appropriate, given that it's the middle of winter, but bleak just the same.

I think I would like to lay in bed and read until spring. But I bet that would actually be really boring. Unless Django was sure to interrupt me every now and again with a particularly radiant little nugget of chatter, like he did the other morning.

This distinctly enjoyable wake-up call started much the same as they all do when they happen before 5a: "Mama...(many minutes pass)...MAAAma...(more minutes)... MAAAMAAA...(now just down to one minute)...Mama?" By the time I finally arrived in his bed, Django had a whole list of complaints. "Mama, my sippy cup is empty." Yes, because you drank it. I'll get you more to drink at a more decent hour. "Mama, I can't find my stuffed friend in the covers." Here she is. "Mama, the night-light clock isn't glowing green." That's because it's not time to wake up yet. "Mama, I don't like that smell."

Hmmmm...hadn't heard that one before. So I gamefully sniffed the air. It seemed fine to me. What smell? "That smell when I stick my finger in my booty and then I smell it."

Oh, right, that smell.

Well, why did you stick your finger in your booty and smell it? "I don't know!" The hand sanitizer is right by your Elmo potty, you know. "Will that take away the smell?" Kind of. But if you don't like that smell you just shouldn't stick your finger up your booty and smell it. "Ok." Think you can sleep a little more? "Yeah." Me, too.

Winter Blues be damned.