by Howard Hain

Yesterday my address may as well have been Sesame Street.

Returning to our one-bedroom apartment in Union City, New Jersey, after three nights at my mother’s house for the Thanksgiving weekend, my daughter had one thing in mind: “Park.”

A two-year old can get quite repetitive. Off we went.

We chose the playground on the other end of town in order to lengthen the walk. Francesca rode in the carriage, looking back over her shoulder at us and saying “park” at the sight of every tree, child, or basketball.

She sat in every swing, slid down every slide, and climbed every rung. She played so hard she hardly even fought us when we said it was time to go.

The pizza guy cut her slice into tiny pieces. Francesca ate all but the crust, bobbing her head up and down with every bite.

Next stop, the bakery.

She pointed at every cookie in the glass case, focusing most on anything containing a chip or a sprinkle. I ordered three or four different types.

We sat at a plastic table, Laurie and I drinking the best Cuban coffee you can get for a buck, while Francesca filled her cheeks.

Before I became a father I never thought watching a child eat could be so satisfying.

I don’t think I could have been more content.

I love my wife. I love her more each day. To see her mother deepens my love.

I love my child. I love her more each day. To see her grow deepens my love.

I would have emptied our bank account to purchase a few hours at the playground, a slice of pizza, and a plate of cookies.

But of course I didn’t need to, the few dollars I laid out was well within our budget.

The real expense was paid long ago.

Thank you God for making me conscious.

Thank you for allowing your Son to purchase our “walk in the park.”

(Nov/29/2011)