“Can I wear them, Mommy? Can I?” Jackson asked as he held up a pair of neon green goggles. They didn’t belong to us, but we were alone on the shore of Loch Haven and I didn’t see the harm in borrowing them for the afternoon. “Just be sure you take really good care of them,” I replied.
I adjusted the straps and we worked together to pull them tightly over his head. A little bug-eyed five-year-old grinned back at me. Then his feet splashed quickly away from the shore.
His first investigation was rooted in exploring the world below the surface of the water. “Do you think I should put my head under water?” he called across the lake. I nodded my approval from shore, and surprisingly that was all it took. For the very first time he held his breath and tilted his face down into the murky water. He looked for salamanders hiding in the sand for a while, and then Parker placed different objects down below for him to spy. An afternoon was spent exploring a completely new world below the surface of the water, a world Jackson had never seen before.
Sometimes, it’s the littlest thing that is holding us back. Forget the giant walls, the sweeping chasms. Sometimes gaining access to the simplest tool has the ability to transform the world as we know it. It turns out, a great adventure can even be hidden in someone else’s neon green goggles.
Parker, too, uncovered a small jewel that day in the form of a plastic strainer. Last summer, we spent a great deal of time pursuing salamanders, though I was the only one who ever managed to snag one. Not anymore. Parker was transformed into a steadfast salamander catcher with the help of his strainer.
He waded through the water until he spied one resting on the sand below. Then he plunged the strainer underwater and as the salamander tried to flee, he’d scoop it below the belly and bring it quickly to the surface. Sometimes, the salamander got away, but a great many times the strainer would rise supporting a shiny creature. His new tool offered him access to a newfound ability.
I joined the boys in making a discovery as well. While they were engaged in unrelenting action, I found a bit of stillness. I plopped by pregnant body down on a weathered throne, also known as a lounge chair, and watched the day unfold from the sidelines. In years to come, I imagine this summer will be fondly remembered as “my lounge chair summer.” It is the first one in a long time that doesn’t require me to chase little people around. And perhaps it’s especially sweet because I am supremely aware of all the change that will soon be upon us. Next year, I’ll leave the lounge chair behind once again and return to the sacred act of corralling tiny feet.
But not on that day.
That day, I stretched out long in the sunshine and watched the beauty around me – the birds calling from shaded branches, the shimmering lake surface, the grins on two little boys’ faces as they explored their newfound worlds and I basked in the joy that a pair of goggles, a strainer and a lounge chair can bring to those who behold them.