by Roldan F. Smith
As I sit digesting my burger at an apparently shiny new burger joint on the edge of a rather large multi-use residential/retail development in suburban territory, I find myself in a whole ‘nother world. Figuratively and literally.
I’ve completed about two-thirds of my journey to a suburb of Atlanta called Canton, GA about thirty to forty minutes north as the crow flies. That two-thirds marker came at Exit 8 in order to fill a hungry spot and buy some time. I am ahead of schedule. My brother, his wife and their one month old son, my very first nephew, and first grandbaby in our family to boot, Caden, are not due home for another couple of hours.
I have not seen Caden for about two weeks now which is equal to half of his life span at the time of this writing. So, I’m paying a visit this day to remind him how he has this really wonderful, smart (and handsome) uncle who loves him very much and who can’t wait until he can walk and talk and tell me about all the pure and perfect things he knows being closely connected to Source still. And who also is looking forward to sharing with him what I’ve come to learn, love and appreciate through my nearly four decades of living. A comparison of notes really.
As I digest the remaining bites of my burger I realized I was the only one who was eating all alone. It’s a packed lunch at the Canyons Burger Company. The tables, set up in a geometric grid pattern, and just about every booth along both sides of the large, open-air dining room are all filled with people. Mostly groups of three or more. Some parties as large as six or seven. Over half that population under the age of 10.
It is kid city in the middle of this burgeoning suburb. And I, a single, male, professional (arguably =)~ urban dweller (for certain!) am right smack dab in the middle of it! My companions… my laptop and a keen sense of knowing when a writing opportunity presents itself.
Having no kids of my own at the moment, (well, except of the four legged type) I had forgotten what the regular rigors of being a kid involved. Obviously, it still involves burger and hot dog joints after a tough morning series of T-ball, soccer, flag football games and cheerleading clinics. The full spectrum of the rainbow is all around me. Not in the people mind you (a full 99% of them are white) but through the colorful uniforms that the little ones, and even a few of their parents are wearing.
Red and black… “War Eagles”! Blue and yellow… “Comets”! Green and blue… “Easton Angels”! Orange and green (not a pretty color combination, by the way)… “Raiders”! The smell of ketchup and kid sweat permeates the air. The indiscernible tunes over the loud speakers are easily drowned out by the squeals and giggles of tots and tweens and parents laughing one minute and injecting a firm “Sit down!” the next.
And all I can do is laugh. I am reminded how differently my life actually is from that of the average mid-to-late-thirties American male. Yet, living in the city in my cozy third floor corner flat in a well respected part of town while taking ninety percent of my meals out between work, client meetings, gym, yoga, book clubs, travel, and drinks at the local watering hole with friends on occasion, I didn’t quite realize just how different it really was.
Certainly, I have friends (and now a brother) with kids. They live in the suburbs. They hardly ever come into town. They certainly don’t call but once every few months. They are football/soccer/baseball/cheerleading/PTA/etc/etc./etc. moms and dads. And they struggle to raise a family amid rising gas prices, falling property values, and less peaceful times.
Just then, I look across the top of my laptop… carefully as not to look too obviously observant. My attention comes to a dad about my age in the booth with his wife, four kids (all in matching uniforms) and a grandma, I presume, attempting to distill some semblance of decorum to the eating frenzie. We lock eyes for a brief moment. I nod in a knowing way, acknowledging what I can only guess he might be thinking. He nods back and we exchange a subtle, almost indiscernible smile. It’s a knowing smile. One that acknowledges the resemblances despite the obvious differences between our current situations.
We see the potential of ourselves in the other. I see the man I once saw myself to be many years ago as young man in college with the nuclear imagry of the successful corporate job, white picket fence, a wife and kids floating around in my head. Perhaps he saw in me the thinker, the writer, the enigmatic traveler, the “single guy” who was always looking for the next opportunity to go, do, seek… free to explore. Perhaps. But in this one brief moment, we connect. And we see that despite it all, our souls recognize the sameness within.
I just had to laugh. His attention went back to his task at hand, and I went back to mine. Both of us back to the task of attending our contributions to the present and future of the world we live in our own significant ways. It’s all right and perfect.
And with stomach and soul equally nourished, I leave to complete the trek further up the road. I think about my nephew, one of Earth’s newest little explorers. I think about the exciting journey he has before him. But mostly I think about the soft joy and pure essence of God he brings with him to share and remind us all of. And I can’t help but smile.
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When not eating burgers in quaint suburban towns, Roldan writes, speaks and supports those who are ready to step into and claim their own personal power through personal one-on-one consultations and the Power of Awareness Workshops. He welcomes your comments and questions and thanks you for sharing this time and space with him. You can contact him directly at roldanfsmith@yahoo.com.
[...] brought on more poignantly by the recent birth of the first grandbaby and nephew in our family, Caden Michael, whom at four months old brought such joy and laughter to our household as we celebrated his very [...]