It was summer. I packed up the double stroller with toys,
sunscreen, snacks and lunches. I loaded the kids in and walked over to the
playground.
Babysitters were there with their charges. One of them
always brought a creative project for the kids to work on. While helping the
kids with crafts she would talk with the adults about what she made for dinner
the night before, or the dinner she as planning to make, in mouth-watering
detail.
Another sitter was impressively fastidious. She cleaned
every grain of sand off of everything before leaving the playground.
Moms showed up. Some
friends of mine were there with kids for my children to play with. I probably
wouldn't be able to have a conversation but it was nice to see some friendly
faces anyway.
There was a mom there who brought her kids but then ignored
them. We watch our kids while God watches
hers one mom liked to say.
There was an energetic stay at home dad who wouldn't be
there long because he was always taking the kids on urban adventures all over
NYC.
There were two other stay at home dads who were friends with
one another but never spoke to anyone else. There was something lackluster about
them. I guessed that they were stay at home dads by default rather than design.
Their kids played with one another, doing whatever they
wanted. They may have had depressed dads, but they sure were having a great
time.
I kept an eye on my kids, especially my son, who needed a
little extra minding. When he was absorbed and playing nicely, I hung back,
encouraging his independence. When he needed some light spotting on the
equipment, I provided that. While he ran around I followed him around the
perimeter of the playground so he wouldn't get hit with the swing while the big
kids were there.
A man entered the playground. I recognized him as a police
officer and husband of one of the moms. He wasn't working, so he was out of
uniform. He was wearing shorts and a neatly ironed tee shirt.
After a brief hello to his family, the man began working out
using the playground equipment.
He used the monkey bars do some chin-ups. He then employed
the padded surface over the pavement to do some push-ups. He started with the
regular, male kind. Then he challenged himself with clapping in the middle. He
did an impossible number of sit-ups.
The kids gave him a wide berth. Even the littlest ones knew
to leave him alone.
A hush fell over the playground. Even the stay at home dads
grew quiet and watchful. They knew that
this man was a different animal from them.
There was an attempt by the moms and sitters to pretend that
nothing unusual was going on. A masculine man was working on his already muscular
physique. He was perspiring and took off
his shirt and threw it off to the side.
I was suddenly very aware of my skin. It was tingling. There
was a subtle and unexpected change in the air. If it weren't for the planes and the sirens
and the sound of children playing you could have heard a pin drop.
It was impossible to deny the sight of a peacock strutting
through the henhouse.
Several of the moms and sitters gave up the charade. They
sat down on some benches and openly watched him. I did the same. In my case, my
attention was divided. It was mostly on him, with breaks to intervene with one
of the kids or help them with snacks.
The man finished his playground workout. He grabbed his
shirt and left as unceremoniously as he arrived.
Eventually, the playground recovered. Conversations were
resumed. I could ignore my skin.
But just for that day, it was like an invisible residue was
left behind. It wasn't the scent of after-shave, cigarettes or beer. It wasn't
the din of a televised football game in the next room. It was a feeling.
The feeling we had was bigger than anyone gathered at the
playground. It was bigger than anyone who had ever been there. It started
before people. And there was nothing our big brains could do about it.
You might also enjoy:
No comments:
Post a Comment