The Wall

When we moved into our current home from our last apartment there was a picture I didn't take, but I wish I did. It would been a picture of a pile of sticks next to our front door. Alan was two at the time, and whenever we would take walks he would look for sticks. He would find one early on and then soon he would be carrying one in each hand. When he found a third he would drop one and pick up the next. He always had sticks with him when we got home, but I had made the rule of no sticks in the house, hence the pile by the door. Every day it grew larger. When we left our apartment for the last time, I looked longingly at the pile. Each stick was a special to me. It represented his two year old self. I knew he would grow out of it and the pile would never really return.

I think I skip many of those moments; piles of sticks that look like junk but are in fact part of my children growing up. This time I managed to get a picture of Alan on the wall. It started a couple years ago when I was scared that Alan would fall down and break an arm. But Alan persisted to climb up and sit on the wall. He's gotten to know our neighbors better than we have. And our wonderful neighbors don't mind Alan at all. He always calls out "Hey neighbor!" and they respond in kind. Alan is the social one in our family and is frequently wanting to go see if the neighbors are out. Even when the neighbors aren't home Alan likes his place on the wall. When Alan has a problem with his temper and needs to calm down he knows this is where to go. He climbs up angry and climbs down content. I know there will be walls at our new house but I also know that things won't be the same. I just wanted to remember how things were.