MAY 26, 2023 – After paying my dues all morning and into the afternoon, I took a break to take our seven-year-old granddaughter to nearby Como Park, St. Paul’s version of Central Park. She had the day off from school—something about a teachers’ workshop—so her mom had taken her to work at a shop near home. I’d offered to swing by, pick up Illiana and take her out for some fresh air and exercise on this exceptionally gorgeous day. After the marathon winter we in this part of the world endured, an 80F-degree day filled with sunshine, blossoming flowers and an explosion of fresh, green foliage, is to be celebrated.
Enroute, I made the mistake of switching the car radio from a Bach cello suite to the latest news. It was my first update on the state of the world since early this morning: debt ceiling/budget talks down to the wire; eastern Ukraine on fire—still—with no end-game in sight; DeSantis and the Duly Defeated gearing up for a showdown. I switched back to the cello suite just before it ended.
Parts of the park—the zoo, the kids’ amusement rides, picnic areas—were jam packed. I drove past them to the pavilion that overlooks Lake Como and found plenty of parking. My suggestion to Illiana was to run free; leave our cares behind and enjoy wherever our path might lead. She took to this like a butterfly to a tailwind.
As she ran full tilt down the well-traveled path around the lake, I marveled at her spirit. She was oblivious to my woes and those of the world. Only recently has she learned the values of the coins in her piggy bank. How our politicians have put the global economy at risk is not yet on her radar. Nor is Ukraine or, for that matter, war. She’s heard of the Duly Defeated but doesn’t know why I call him that. She’s not heard of the Book Ban Man.
Her obliviousness was comforting. Her unbridled chase, which she interrupted at regular intervals to check on my progress behind her, forced full dissipation of the news that had disturbed me between movements of the Bach.
Illiana let me catch up to her, and we then walked in tandem, stopping now and again to explore things off the beaten path—a damsel dragonfly; water lapping some stones along the shore; ground-cover sprinkled with purple blossoms, which Illiana insisted were baby lilacs; and the biggest attraction of all, a 30-foot stretch of landscape boulders along the walkway.
She climbed onto the first, then stepped boulder-to-boulder and back again. Living in this society’s Age of Anxiety, I worried at first that she might stumble badly, crash to the ground and break an arm—under my watch. But I fought off this thought by seizing a counter-thought: at seven-and-a-half, a kid is supposed to be doing exactly this—not breaking an arm, mind you, but exploring, developing skills, assuming challenges and overcoming them. The benefits of her boulder-bounding, I decided, far outweighed the risks.
Illiana turned it into a game, and after many repetitions, her agility was on full display. At the outset of another round, she said confidently, “I’m an athlete!”
I laughed into the sunshine. Just yesterday when a young boy wearing a “Manitou F.C.” soccer shirt and carrying a soccer ball at the playground invited Illiana and her friend to play soccer with him—“I’ll even let the two of you be on the same team,” the little boy said—Illiana declined, saying, “I’m not a sporty girl.”
What a different a day makes when you’re her age.
The best part of our outing lay ahead. After backtracking to our starting point—logging well over a mile—Illiana spotted a monarch butterfly. We watched it’s erratic flight path, which led to a fresh leaf atop a large, nearby shrub. The monarch rested but a moment before taking flight again. I told Illiana that monarchs are now endangered, but she already knew this. She knows more of the world’s woes than I’d assumed.
When the monarch outdistanced us, then disappeared, I challenged Illiana to a major hill climb. She was game, but on the ascent, she stopped, lay down, and rolled through the grass to the bottom. It was exactly what a kid should do on a day like today in a place like the park. I had half a mind to emulate her, but before I could bend myself to the ground, better judgment prevailed.
I called Illiana to climb the hill again, this time to the top. We reached it together, and on the other side, she discovered a large patch of dandelions that had already gone to seed. Again, she lay down and picked a perfectly shaped globe of dandelion seeds, waiting to be blown across the grass. She took a big breath and sent the miniature parachutes floating in the light breeze.
In all of this I was reminded of the importance of what was most important about my day.
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
