The children wanted to dig a hole in the backyard this weekend.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because. It’s a big yard. It needs a hole.”
“Don’t you remember digging holes when you were a kid?” My wife asks.
I honestly don’t.
I remember tying the wagon to my bike and going on imaginary trips. My maternal grandmother would even mail her paper boarding pass to me so I could use them when I pretended to travel. I still have one tucked away in a book somewhere. It serves as a memento of a generation passed.
I remember being younger and having absolutely nothing to do. Of course, you dare not admit this boredom for fear of being overheard and the avalanche of chores that might follow.
I remember putting fireflies in jars.
I remembering eating tons of ice cream and not getting an upset stomach and I remember drinking a coke and still being able to fall asleep.
I remember riding my bike until it was dark and walking to McDonald’s with my brother.
But I don’t remember digging holes.
Still, at some point this weekend I paused from the home construction project I wanted to get done and looked out in the yard. There were the children, digging a hole. I found myself unconsciously humming a song I heard once upon a time. The song is “Eulogy” by The Hereafter and, though I have no idea of its origin, I love these lyrics:
Let’s pretend that we can still pretend/Let’s pretend that we are young again/I am only looking for a friend/Let’s pretend that we are young again.
As I hummed the tune, I wandered out to the yard. The kids were so proud. So dirty. So happy.
And I had to admit. It was an impressive hole.
This week remember what gave you joy when you were kid. Hitch your wagon to your bike. Smile more. Email less. Put down the phone. Catch a firefly.
Dig a hole.