July 11, 2001 - Wednesday
I'm a little surprised Harry wasn't at the window sooner this morning, but once he got there, there was no turning back. While we were eating breakfast I heard the town workers outside starting up the backhoe. I think Harry heard something, too, but I don't think he put the two together. I tried to hurry him with his cereal and raisins, but that's hard to do. Then, I tried to hurry him with his teeth brushing, but somewhere between finishing breakfast and that, Harry turned the corner. He started saying "look" and "see" at the window that was ever so slightly too high, now starting to understand the noise outside. I made the mistake of thinking that I'd give him a quick look and then hurry him through brushing teeth.

I'm pretty sure there was a time in my life when I, if I had been a father, would have insisted Harry finish brushing his teeth, saying "as soon as you finish, we can go outside." And, I did try that this time, trying to excitedly rush Harry through the process. But, something about having a kid, or maybe it was getting a kitten many years ago, suggested that this was one lesson that was not going to get through. Harry now knew about the backhoe. Teeth meant nothing. Habits meant nothing. Lessons meant nothing, except to me. We were going to go watch it dig.


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