From training pants to training wheels, Motocross racing, a funeral and a custody battle, I taught my son Alec how to live on this planet. You know, the simple stuff; cross at the intersection when the light is green, stand still when it's red. Through our laughter and tears, travel and travail, road trips, mountain biking, potty training and rock climbing adventures, he taught me about life on this planet, and most importantly, love.
His seven-year old questions, such as, "Dad, does your penis get hard when you think about Cindy Crawford?" drag me giggling at my prudishness into the Is-he-old-enough-for-this-yet? sex talk. His tears and painful sorrow as his grandmother battled with, then lost her life to cancer, took me to a deeper understanding of the immense beauty in living with surrender -- and dying with dignity. His courage in confronting an alcoholic grandfather allowed me to heal generations of anger, through a process of profound understanding and forgiveness.
Ten years ago I started writing down observations, impressions, and lessons I learned while watching this noisy little hologram of myself, nicknamed Squeak. I finally created a book about him and I wandering, sometimes in wonder, under the immense Arizona sky, occasionally highlighted with shimmering double rainbows. The unique beauty of the Sonoran Desert surrounded us, while Redtail Hawks soared overhead, and Coyotes loitered in our parking lot looking for not-so-fast food. This little boy gave me the greatest gift of all, the experience of Agape -- love without strings of attachments or conditions.
I hope you create time to allow me to share these smirks, laughter and tears with you. I hope you cansee, . and perhaps reclaim, a little of your own child.