Second Sunday in November

I usually stay home as much as possible on the weekends. Weekends are our time to be together as a family. So, I do most errands during the weekdays, while Dylan is in school.

This morning, though, I felt like I just had to go to the gym. I'm working at getting a workout station set up in our garage, but it's not there yet. As I was backing up, Dylan came running out the front door. He asked me to stay. I told him I would be back soon, leaned out the window to hug him, and left anyway.

It's about a mile and a half to the "real" road into town, the first half being dirt. When I got to the road, I stopped. I thought about Dylan being eight, and about how things are changing. I thought about the real possibility that in a scant few years, he would no longer ask me to stay home. I thought about the day when he would move away, and I wondered if one particular morning would haunt me late in life: that morning when I decided to go to the gym instead of hang with my son.

I turned around to go home. I was a few hundred yards from our gate when our former neighbor and his son came up behind me in their car. They've recently bought a house in town, and will be renting the "old" one out. They'd come to burn some brush piles and do general cleanup outside. Brian, the son, asked if Dylan would be available to play. I knew Dylan would be overjoyed, both to see Brian again and to watch brush burning.

I told Brian that Dylan would love to come over. I smiled. Dylan wouldn't miss me in the least while he was hanging with Brian. I turned around and headed to the gym again. I pondered the passing of time. I thought of the day Dylan was born, and how, when I first set my eyes upon my son, it felt as if God had put a spotlight on him.