What dreams become.

I have
no knowledge of this moment.
I can only guess the anticipation
expectation
the dream
you dreamt in this instant.

Early on...

Early on
you noticed how moods
change
when we walk together
from school,
picking acorns and walnuts
bird feathers and
pebbles
making our way home
on a sunny afternoon
you telling me that kindergarten
is a lot of busy work.


I smiled then
knowing full well
that teachers work hard to
make things flow
and keep boys
busy
in their seats
like coaches
try to keep little boys
focused on
chasing the ball
and not picking
daisies on the soccer field.


Later,
exhausted
with sweat and pain
you preferred pizza for a snack
instead of oranges and granola
after
soccer, basketball, baseball
tennis, golf, snowboarding, biking
with teams
or with boys in the neighborhood
in the pool
off the steep hills around us
at Shoup Park
chasing balls
each other
dreams
climbing trees
and mountains.

Daily
you
dressed up
responsibilities
with joyful noises
studying, working,
caring
exploring how
to become
less frustrated
by break-downs
heavy demands
how to know
all there is
to know
holding petals
of a daisy
or watching the flight
of a hummingbird.


And you're still
becoming
exploring
the unknown
without me
knowing your whereabouts.

At Christmas, though, I expect you sharing with me.

After a cool swim.

(Brian fell in cold waters helping Butters find a way back to shore from a reedy lake.)

It was a cool afternoon in April, 1991. Brian and his dad were at the baseball field by Pierce College for practice. I arrived late from work and sat in the stands waiting for them to finish practice. At break time, he came over to say hi and asked about a box I was holding.

"A present for you."

" Is it a baseball mitt?"

"Bigger."

"Is it a new pair of sneakers?"

His dad called the boys for final instructions before releasing them to their parents, and right then I told Brian I had brought him a new puppy for his 11th birthday. He opened the box, grabbed the dog and ran back to the field screaming at his teammates to wait. And there, on the field, the boys all sat around and admired the new puppy that looked more bear than dog.

When we got home, the puppy, named Wooley on that field, became Brian's constant companion. 

When we retired in 2002, Brian was still in college. Wooley went to live with him until we were settled in Oregon.  

Wooley remained with Brian until she died of cancer. Putting her to sleep was the toughest thing he ever had to do. 

After he bought his house in July 2009, he acquired Buttercup, (Butters).