Last Sunday was like most Sundays – Andy and I played in the park. Usually, we go to Komazawa, but this time it was Kinuta for swimming. These days he swims a lot along the bottom, but often he just does forward and backward somersaults, or swims on his back, otter-like. After the pool, we had lunch. My order was forgotten, but Andy ate well, so good enough.
Outside, the day was humid heavy and overcast, as we walked to the wide fields inside the west gate of Kinuta. The area here is like eastern Kansas — thick grass, lots of trees and a long, gentle-sloped hill along the west edge. I pitched and he batted. When I got the ball in the strike zone, he hit it – sometimes hard right back at me. Afterward, we stopped for some ice cream. Then we walked to a bus stop along a route we had taken many times when he was a toddler. It was much quicker than I expected. He is five now and walks fast.
In the evening, Andy drew a picture of our day. At first he drew it with dark clouds, which was factually accurate, but artistically he had more to say. He drew it again, this time with smiles – the sun, clouds, and raindrops all smile. The ball at the center of the picture smiles, too, and so does the orange tree to the left of me. Satisfied with the emotional accuracy of the drawing, he gave it to me, “Happy Father’s Day, daddy.”