Daddy Lessons 101 – On Throwing Rocks
I’ll always remember the day I taught Gerome how to throw a rock into a pond.
We had gone to Hawrelak Park to celebrate pretty much the last day of summer here in Edmonton daddy finger lyrics . Aside from it being the unofficial last day of summer, the distance between where we live and where Hawrelak Park is the farthest I’ve driven ever since I obtained my learner’s license, and it turned out to be an uneventful, safe ride so I was extra thankful.
After we had eaten our meals, the kids-Gerome, our only child back then, and his cousin-took to the park to play. They played with their toys, chased each other around, until the point where they both stood at the edge of the artificial central pond. His cousin looked at the pond, and excitedly pointed out to Gerome the family of ducks (or loons, for the sake of being Canadian) swimming by. Gerome just stood at the water’s edge, 2 fingers in his mouth (which in our household, means “I’m bored outta my mind” or “I’m tired”), watching the ducks float by. As his cousin was making his way back to our picnic area, I made my way towards Gerome.
As he stood there, still sucking in his fingers, I picked up a small rock and threw it at the water. He watched me pick the rock up, fling it with all my might, and watched as it created the expected ripple on the water’s surface. Then a smile came to his face, and he got excited. “That seems like a lot of fun!” was the expression painted in his face.
So I picked up a smaller rock and handed it to him. Knowing how smart my son is, he flings it sideways, but unfortunately his swing wasn’t strong enough and his rock fell on the wayside. Without skipping a beat, I handed him another small rock and said “Just try again; It’s OK”. Again he takes the rock, and repeats the same process. As his rock falls on the wayside, I keep handing him another one, assuring him “It’s OK; try again”. This goes on for quiet awhile, until the point where he got frustrated with himself.
At this point, I took a rock, placed it in his hands, and slowly lifted his hand and put it into an overhead throw position. One thing about my eldest is that he absolutely HATES being taught how to do things (takes after his mom AND his dad!) so he tried pulling his hand away. I refused to let go, and whispered in his ear “Just let Daddy help you”. So I took his hand, and using the force of my own hand, flung the rock. It skipped through the water, and made that ripple. I looked at him, and he was smiling from ear to ear. From there I let go of his hand, stepped back, handed him a rock and watched him do it himself. My job was done.
Gerome was 3 years old, and has a clinically diagnosed speech delay, but excels in physical adaptation and fortitude. I highly doubt he understood the words I said, but rather just telegraphed my facial expressions, the softness and the sternness of my voice, and the action of my arms. But he was just 3. If he could understand what my heart truly wanted to say, what I really wanted to tell him was that this rock will not the be first and only rock you’ll ever throw; That as you grow older, you’ll be getting rocks thrown at you too. That it’s okay not to get it the first time; heck, you may not even be able to get it the second or third time too. That when life hands you rocks when you want lemons, you better take that damn rock and throw it at your opponent’s face, regardless of how big of a pond he is-Throw that rock the right way, and you’ll see a ripple. That sometimes it’s okay to get frustrated; to err is human, as they say. But the most important thing I’d want him to know is that Daddy is always going to be right behind you, watching you, watching you try, watching you fail, watching you get up and try again. And that Daddy will always be here to say “This is how you do it”, that it do