Half Acre

Cathy and I bought a house in 1991 and acquired a wonderland. Our little half acre has: two football fields, a 112 tree forest, a coaches-pitch diamond, a ghost in the graveyard, a play-ground, a basketball court, a mountain, a jungle, a mud-hole. A pit, a swamp, a river, an ocean, a tower, a fort, a hideout, a dirt bike track, a daredevil jump, a ski-hill; this place is an overall land of a million adventures.

Tonight I was roaming the land with Doc, our goofy Chesapeake. First he ran around with one of Patrick's old basketballs and then he traded it for one of Aaron's old rubber footballs. Aaron and I played seasons of football in the front yard stadium--the south endzone was Patrick's coach-pitch field. Tonight I tossed the football and Doc was my receiver instead of Aaron. How the boys managed to play all those years without running head first into a tree I don't know. A twinge of sadness struck me so I left Doc with the football and made my way to the back yard.

Going down suicide hill I came to the North football field. I was standing in one endzone looking toward the other when I noticed the swing set. Aaron referred to swing sets and sandboxes as "Playgrounds" as in "Look Mom, they have kids- see their play ground!" Aaron and Patricks playground has toys in the sandbox and swings adjusted to the height of Patrick--closer to the ground, and Aaron--several notches higher. The rings are adjusted many notches higher so that they would have to jump up and could keep their feet off the ground.

The tear jerker for me tonight was the stairs Aaron and I nailed to the tree in 1996 when we built the tree house. Actually the house was more of a platform eight feet off the ground surrounded by flimsy railings. We built it against Cathy's wishes with the promise that "nothing was going to happen". We tore it down in the fall on '97 after Kristopher was killed at age 15. Innocence died that fall. The steps are still there. The nails little Aaron hammered crooked are still there and they remind me of what's gone: his determination for adventure-never perfect but effective.

Tonight I leaned against the Cherry tree and felt the scars I inflicted on it. May 11, '05, I took an axe to that Cherry tree and told God I was going to take down his tree because he took my son. I left the tree bruised and battered. It stood, I fell. Which of us was hurt the worst? Touching the deep scars I could feel where the axe chunked out pieces of bark and wood. The jagged edges are as sharp today as when I my pain was so fresh a 20 months ago.

Crying is good. Doc must have known I could use a pal. He came running to me from the basketball court. Doc jumped off the cliff, ran across the ocean and skidded to a stop by my feet. The next thing he did was something new. Doc tried to go up the slide to the top of the tower. Once, twice, three times he tried to go up the slippery slope; each time he slid down butt first to the ground. His determination turned my sobs into laughs. I gave him a boost and Doc made it up the ladder side to the platform from where Hook captained his ship on the high seas. Doc jumped disembarked the ship the only way any salty dog worth his weight in buried treasure would--he jumped.

I'd seen the boys climb up the slide side enough to know it could be done, so I showed Doc the way. He attacked the challenge and continued to end up on his backside. Once more I gave the boy a hand and Doc was again perched high atop the ship. Having seen me slide down the silver slope, Doc gave it a try himself. This time he planted himself nose first into ground a came up with a muzzle full of white, cold snow. A slow learner or a glutton for punishment he gave going up the slide side more tries on his own.

Patrick turns 16 on Wednesday. He takes his driving test this week. This summer I will take the play-ground apart and give it to somebody for their children's adventures.

Tom