Yesterday I blew up one of those giant pool toys. Lips, lungs and an hour or so of what felt like barrels of hot air, the toy didn’t quite inflate. Though the ball remained soft and saggy, I had become completely depleted and dizzy. The giant beach ball with stripes had wrestled, resisted, swooshed and pulled from within. There lolling around in the middle of our living room were minuscule pieces of my soul trapped for the time being, held captive and wanting to leak out. While whirling around and regaining my breath, a strange nostalgia engulfed me, making me reminisce, more importantly making me grateful.
|There's an intangible me inside.|
Blowing up the ball reminded me of my dad who had blown up our play pool and many other toys when we were toddlers. Unless you’ve done this before you don’t appreciate the pain and agony that goes into blowing up one of these larger toys. Of course, they have pumps nowadays but there was this magic moment-- that spanned the years—evoking dad, making this experience worth the shortened breath and lightheaded daze. I remembered my father’s unconditional desire to see his kids play, laugh and enjoy summer. Something we as kids, took for granted. Nice and taut everything worked perfectly and if we made a hole, then he’d patch the toy or ball without complaining. This flashback reminded me of his heart and his soul, perhaps best described as an intangible moment, consisting of puffs of heavenly love.
What about you?
Have any recent events jogged early childhood memories?