Two years ago, roughly this time of year, it was much colder outside and i was on my bike, with bag slung over shoulder doing a supply run East on Sunset point road. As I was passing a residential area a police car traveling in the opposing direction passed me, slowed down banked a youee and pulled in, abruptly a side street up from me and the officer stepped out of the car, looking at me as I came up on him.
As any red blooded, law abiding American would do I came to a stop and thought "Oh crap! What did I do NOW?"
The officer, cautiously with arms slightly outstretched, palms flat out approached me, as one would approach a wounded, yet not unconscious dangerous animal.
I made no sudden, unnecessary movements.
With slow, clearly enunciated tones he asked me if I was OK. Furthermore he asked if I had a warm place to spend the night, and enough food.
I will pause to explain that given my appearance I suppose, in retrospect I could understand. For those who don't know me I look like a cross between Frank Miller, and Charles Manson (with a passing resemblance to the 50's B-Movie favorite "The Blob") and given my choice of vocation I am hard pressed to find an item in my wardrobe that's NOT heavily stained with grease, that when washed just looks like dirt. So even though at the time I was somewhat offended, and compelled to assure him that I not only had a three bedroom home, but a family as well, and that riding a bike was a CHOICE not a necessity, later was touched by his concern.
Now, I told you that story to tel you this one.
Given my physical appearance, proclivities and attire I can understand what some folks unfamiliar with me may think. But as the old saying goes "you can't judge a book by it's cover" applies.
So you'll understand where the following sentiments may seem somewhat out of character.
I oft time speak of my family and children especially with a certain degree of...sardonisism. And even though there is truth in the telling, the emotion is more akin to humorous annoyance, then anger. See, i have embraced the curse placed upon me by my mother so many years ago to wit: "I hope you have children who act like you some day!"
And I do.
Oddly enough...I love it! Perhaps the masochist in me thrives on the chaos and revelry inherent in children. Not unlike Gomez Adams watching Tuesday try to disembowel Pugsly with beaming pride.
When my day of work ends I close up shop, walk the two blocks home and as i come up to the front (Brady Bunch double) door inevitably I see Izabella standing on the chair looking out the little side window, and when she sees me she shrieks in delight, jumping up and down. As I open the door Logan, Rozy and Owen are hiding behind it to scare me (which I do the appropriate "AAAHHHHH!" they then laugh and attack me at once nearly knocking me to the floor with hugs and hellos and all talking at once wanting to tell me their day. Kaleb gives me a "hey, Dad" and a sideways hug, while Elijah gives me a bear hug lifting me from the floor as I dangle briefly while being crushed. At that point Momma gets her turn to give me a warm hug and kisses.
With slight variation, it's that way each night. After my shower, we eat dinner, sit and talk or play with the kids until bedtime, then hunker down for quiet time and bed.
Contentment. And to all those naysayers who crave excitement and adventure, have at it. I happy home bound. And with all that joy, why would we deprive ourselves more?
We are expecting our tenth child in May.