Did Mr. G. Have Kids?

Your children are not your children. 

They are the sons and daughters of life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you, yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love, but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls. For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward, nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.... 

-Kahil Gibran  

Did Mr. G have kids? Did he put his son or daughter on the bus for the first day of kindergarten? 


Or middle-school? oddly the same feeling as kindergarten.

And though they are with you, they belong not to you.

I get what he's saying. 

On an intellectual level, 

or if I let go into the Great Awareness that is beyond this material life, this seen life, beyond breathing and blood and birthing my girls, beyond breast milk, and bus stops.


Beyond belonging?

"You know, parents aren't really allowed at the bus stop," said the Mom who has way more kids than I do. Five? 
Clearly an old hat at this.

"Well, Claire and I like to talk in the car," I said, "that's what we did last year so..."

"I'm kidding," she said. 
"Well, it's the first day, right?" I said.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth...

Jesse was my first arrow.
Now, Claire.
I am a good bow. 

Michael too. 

At 2:58, I will be at the bus stop hiding behind a tree 
to see how my arrow fared.

I'm certain she'll be full of great stories, as always. 

Fodder for this mom/writer/bow.

We are all life's longing for itself ~ 

middle school, middle age...makes no difference.

Joseph Of Rockaway

The phone rang at 7:58 this morning.
"Sears here. I'm just pulling up to your house."
I stepped outside to greet our garage door-fixer.
"Ah! A man after my own heart," I said, "coming before the stroke of eight like this. You're an angel."
"Well, at least somebody thinks so,"he said.
"Well, good morning!" I said, "I'm Betsy."
"I'm Joseph,"he said, cracking a smile.


"It's your drive gear,"Joseph said, after listening to the gears stall. 
"Hmmm, can it be fixed?" I asked.
"Sure,"he said.
"Are you from Cape Cod?"I asked.
"Nope, Rockaway,"Joseph said, "but everyone thinks I'm from New England.


Joseph has three girls, triplets, five and a half years old.
"Heather, Hope, and Courtney," he said, sliding a photo out from the visor in his truck. He moved back to the Poconos four years ago to be closer to his parents. 
"It's better this way,"he said, "the drive was getting too much, you know."
"I know, my Dad lives with us now,"I said.
"Hey, we need to lend a hand, right. My grandmother moved in with my parents, well, she passed. But now, my folks are getting older and, you know. It's fine being here. I like to ski,"he said.


Tonight the triplets are in a Christmas pageant at school.
"They're sweet girls,"he said,"the pageant will be sweet." 


"Here's my card if you need more help,"Joseph said, reaching out to shake my hand.
"Merry Christmas,"I said.
"Merry Christmas to you too," he said.


It was another fine day of This Being Alive; sharing tiny stories & a warm handshake with Joseph of Rockaway. 


Let's keep passing the peace.