“I mean, how are you really?”
Sitting in a folding chair under a tree in Hull Park, I’m watching Che run around with 24 other kids in preparation for the “Rock-n-Roll Marathon.
“I mean, how are you really?”
Sitting in a folding chair under a tree in Hull Park, I’m watching Che run around with 24 other kids in preparation for the “Rock-n-Roll Marathon.”
Looking over my sunglasses so our eyes meet, I reply.
“I mean I’m really alright. You know, sitting out here! Watching our kids run around! Living the Dream.”
“Are you still going to Jacksonville?” she whispers, leaning forward, as though it’s a secret.
“Oh yeah,” I fire. “Every 28 days. The Chemo menstrual cycle.”
“Well,” she sighs in exclamation as she stands and pokes a finger in the middle of her sunglasses to cover her eyes, “you hide it so well.”
“What?” I ask, watching Che ask a girl older than her to be her partner for the next exercise. Our little girl’s moving with ease among kids who haven’t become her friend yet and I’m proud!
“I mean” she explains, crossing her arms again before yelling at her son ,”DO NOT CHEAT AND CUT ACROSS THE FIELD!”
She’s a nice lady.
Sarah and I know her from volunteering at the school.
Last week when I brought Che alone to “Running Practice” for the first time and she hovered around me, attending to me should I need, just in case.
That was nice.
Sarah’s picking up food for a picnic we’re having after practice.
Hull Park is a quaint, “Old Savanah” square in the midst of an established neighborhood full of the right kinds of folks. It’s a gem to enjoy and Che’s been asking for a picnic anyway.
“I mean,” she starts again, peering over her sunglasses at me, “I just always thought you were just an old, cool retired dude.”
“I am an old, cool, retired dude,” I smile back.
A long, manicured finger pushes her sunglasses up her nose, arms cross and she sighs as she stands, “Y’all are just so brave.”
I don’t know what to say.
We both watch our kids run around the field.
Hull Park’s a hotbed of pre-dusk activities. Joggers, walkers, couples holding hands, parents chasing kids, and children running everywhere. A birthday party’s taking place at the picnic tables, a Mom tosses rings to her 3 kids on top of slide, smaller kids push the merry-go-round jumping on and off, three long haired guys play guitar on the amphitheater like steps and the whole wide world seems content.
Practice ends and Che rushes up for a hug just as Sarah returns with our special picnic dinner prepared exclusively for us by this week’s celebrity guest Chef at “The Restaurant Wendy’s on 65th.”
Finding a picnic table, we feast!
“Anything interesting happen while I was gone,” my wonder of a woman asks sipping a hand cut fry in specially packaged ketchup.
Che’s mouth is completely filled with a dinosaur shaped chicken nugget so she’s quiet for the moment.
“I had the damndest conversation,” I grin.
“Tell me,” she smiles inquisitively.
So I do, and we laugh, wondering how she knows about my cancer, why she thinks I’m hiding anything and how it makes us brave.
Che wants to hit the playground before we leave so we quickly clean up and make our way towards things that used to be normal.
Nothing’s normal in our world anymore.
I suppose not much is normal in anyone’s.
If you’re going to have a picnic in this life, well, you just have to be brave enough to make it.
