“A bit of fragrance always clings to the hand that gives roses.”

~Chinese Proverb

I‘m a bit of out of sorts.  The children had the day off from school and so did we.  It feels odd, tomorrow being middle of the week.

This morning we went for a walk.  This in itself is not unusual.  We walk often. What was unusual, was running into my father two blocks outside our house. He was delivering flowers, and we live on the other side of town. The odds of him passing us at that particular moment, in a city of nearly half a million people were slim.

“Was that Pop?” Daisy said. “I think I just saw Pop.” She repeated herself without missing a beat in expectation of my disbelief.

The four of us held hands on the corner as my father pulled the car full of flowers against the curb and idled.

It was California crisp. The sun was confident enough to fill the sky, but not cruel enough to make us anything less than perfectly comfortable.

Pop rolled down the windows and I immediately smelled the pungent scent I’d slowly grown immune to over the dozen years I peddled petals.  Our exchange was brief, mostly made of fancy meeting you here; the motor was running, and the flowers weren’t getting any fresher.  Max and Mia each took a final whiff of the flowers before waving farewell.

I said good-bye to Pop.  Neither of us said anything during the quiet that passed between us, each one remembering a time when we had less sharing to do, and time didn’t arrive in such a premium.  He turned around, we waved goodbye, and continued our trek to Walmart for an armload of essentials.

We took care of our must dos, then headed toward the deepest pocket of the nation’s smallest Walmart (located smack in the middle of downtown).  We wandered the toy aisles, and allowed the children to look like we always do.  They love this activity, both of them constantly drawing imaginary lists.  “Can I have this for my birthday?”  Max will ask, even though his birthday is still seven months away.  “Can I have this for Christmas?”  Mia will look up, even though she already knows the answer.

“You may add it to your list,” we say.

Max’s current favorite X on the treasure map is tied between anything Thomas and anything having to do with garbage trucks, or trash in general.  This morning, he parked himself at the bottom of the Thomas display, pulled a box from the shelf, and ran his fingers across the top.  He turned it in his hands and traced the letters, starting with the T and ending with the S.  He returned the box to the shelf and pulled down another.  He continued to do this with a series of boxes, investigating the merit of each.

Max knows there is no possibility that we are leaving with anything beyond what we came for.  There never is.  We leave the house with only cash, and perhaps a dollar or two more than we might need.  Daisy and I have been parents long enough to know our shortcomings.  Max has a handful of expressions that could possibly convince us to crumble our cardinal rule of NO CREDIT.

Daisy and I have never been more excited for the holidays.  They will be modest for certain, but Max, for the first time, will have toys that he will not have to share.  Max is by nature, an immeasurably generous child.  During his first year of life, he shared everything he had with his sister, always and without hesitation.  Daisy and I have run the preschool since he was one, and he has carried the habit forward like an eye color.

We’ve given him plenty of opportunities.  Every time he has a birthday or occasion for gift, we tell Max that he does not have to take it downstairs if he doesn’t want to.  But that just isn’t in his nature.  The Radio Flyer tricycle Pop bought him stayed his for only days. Max doesn’t know the opposite of share.

It is okay to have some things that belong to only you.  It could be your favorite book or toy, a journal, or perhaps your parents. This Christmas, we are giving the world to our children.

Writer Dad

Ghostwriter Dad specializes in SEO web copy and custom blog posts. Just in case yesterday was your day off, you can find Lucas with the lid off here.