It all started with the banging door.
I’d be asleep, sound asleep, in the darkened air-conditioned hyperbaric chamber I call my bedroom, when I’d hear her door down the hall shutting. Well, slamming is more like it. But, shutting a door is an art form that we sort of take for granted as we get older, I guess, and she’s only three yet so I understand that everything lacks a certain gentle touch when you’re that young.
Anyway, at first it was alarming, of course, being woken up in the predawn hour by the thud of endless possabilites, most of them bad news.
But then, after it happened a few times, and then after I’d lie there and listen to her jiggling my doorknob and mumbling to herself in her fragile voice, I came to let my guard down.
It wasn’t some night prowler after all.
It was, in fact, the complete opposite.
Thus, I came to kind of like it.
I mean, there are worse ways to rise and shine.
She was awake, she’d had her hard eight hours of sleep and that was as much as I could hope for, and now she wanted something new to kick off her day. So, we entered into this original morning performance; her moving out of her room/slamming her door shut/messing about with the gateway to my world/ and then slowly, sheepishly, standing there in the hallway light, peering in through the slight two inch crack she’d allow herself to peer through.
She was looking for me, making sure that her daddy was awake.
And heck, a few weeks later, she still is.
But, because I like to play along with stuff, because I like to dance the dance, even when it’s before the rooster and we ought to all be grabbing at least a few more winks, I decided to add some of my own moves, you know, to make it more fun and all.
Three days ago, when I opened my eyes to the thump of her impending arrival, I real quick reached over in the dark and felt around for my laptop on the floor where I park it every night.
The doorknob began to do it’s thing, shifting and clanking as she tried her best to jimmy it open.
The soft blue light of resurrected screen filled the room.
The knob jostled and shook. I could hear her tiny voice out there, talking to herself.
I pulled up this video some unknown genius had made and posted on YouTube. It has a strange/odd sort of contagious techno song to it. More importantly though, it stars some crafty special effects cows who dance and spin and, well, turn into spiders with cow heads. (It’s a video I have written about briefly before, the first time I ever ran across it. And it’s a video that has staying power if you ask me, because we have watched the sucker a whole lot since that day.)
And now then, the moment hung out there in the cool air like some World Series knuckleball, floating and dipping and diving with all of the certainty and balance of a blind moth headed for the heat of the lights.
The funny thing is, when you suddenly want to have something cool happen so badly, and you have only a split second to get it done, so much of life’s next few moments simply depends on which way the wind blows, huh? Ideas get shot down by ill-timing all of the time.
It happens. You just learn to live with what you missed out on.
Not this time though.
The door creaked open.
I hit the play button.
The dirty synthesizers filled the room at the precise moment in time when she was doing her peek-in, hoping I’d be awake, but probably not so sure I would be.
She recognized it of course, that music, right away.
I heard her squeal with delight as she flung my door open and ran up to flop herself on my bed, her smile as wide as I had ever seen it.
“Daddy!”, she cried out (way too loud for 5AM), “It’s the COWS!”
Man, did I ever feel eight foot tall as I dropped my bat and just stood there and watched that knuckleball rise triumphantly up through the ether, a pigeon shot out off a cannon, up into the high bleachers far far away.
I don’t know about you, but my homeruns are mostly few and fare between. So, I savor what I manage to grab.
Anyways, that’s how I’m waking up these days. And sure, I’m no fool; I know it’s the kind of lightning that won’t last forever.
But for now, I’m gonna ride it like hell.
You can also find Serge on his personal blog, Thunder Pie.
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