Every now and then, I have what I like to call a “highlight reel” moment. No, it’s not me dunking a basketball or diving for a winning touchdown. I’d probably injure myself if I even attempted either of those things. For me a “highlight reel” moment is when I see or experience something that begins a mental collage of images, sounds, smells, or conversations from my past.
These moments are triggered by all sorts of things. I heard “Mr. Blue Sky” by ELO and got a bit misty as a life of precious memories with my late uncle flooded into my mind (he was the world’s biggest ELO fan). Certain diesel engines create an aroma that takes me back to days of working on jet engines in the hangar of the U.S.S Peleliu. Every time I see a car like one I used to own, I remember every turn I ever made in it.
The other night, I saw something that started a highlight reel. Normally I would be upset at seeing the pink, canvas sneakers of my daughter lying carelessly in the living room floor. But something was different that night. My mind didn’t immediately wonder whether or not her room was as messy as the living room floor. Instead, it started thinking about the little girl that wore those shoes. I remembered the slippers that she wore as a baby. I thought about how her older sister would help her tie her first “real” shoes or how we struggled with her to even wear shoes.
It is remarkable how many memories come with a pair of shoes. Ballet shoes take me back to dance recitals with butterfly wings and leotards for both of my little ladies. Fuzzy slippers tell the story of the hippie daughter waving a peace sign. High heels remind me of high school dances complete with formal gowns. Rugged sneakers recall a 12 mile hike in the North Georgia mountains that wiped us out.
A highlight reel of memories – all because of a pair of pink shoes on my living room floor. While giving me a great sense of warmth and joy, the memories also bring a tinge of pain. I know that it will be far too soon that there will be no more shoes lying in my living room. They’ll be in her own home with her own family before I can blink my eyes. And I will wonder – did I do a good job? Did I make the most of every opportunity? Did I mess up my girls for life with any number of parenting mistakes?
My girls often ask me what I want for my birthday / Father’s Day / Christmas, and I always struggle to answer. There is really only one thing I want, and they can only play a partial role in making that desire come true. I know that some day I will stand before God and answer for all that I have done. Even now, I can hear Him saying, “I gave you the responsibility to raise those two girls. I charged you with bringing them up in such a way that they would know of me, that they would love me, and that they would be a reflection of my own goodness and character.” As He then looks over the lives of my daughters and considers the kind of women that they became, I have but one burning desire. I hope to hear Him say, “Well done.”
With one daughter off to college and another nearing high school, I know all too well those precious, pink sneakers will one day walk out of my home and into her own. I wonder what the highlight reel will look like then.
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