Author Archives: Jo Hawke

Don’t Start Nothin’, Won’t Be Nothin’ (Kevin and the Hulk)

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We’d walked blocks and blocks and blocks and blocks and blocks.

We could’ve taken the subway, but *somebody* didn’t like the subway. And, really, it’s always much more interesting to stumble across places we never would’ve made our destination or even our stops along the way than to sit in the swelteringly smelly subway.

But when we finally arrived at the Chelsea Theater, the showing of The Dark Knight we’d planned on was sold out. Sigh.

So we bought tickets for the late-late show and walked down to Jake’s Saloon for drinks and hors d’oeuvres to pass the hours. We talked and I drew on all the napkins, if our collective memory serves.

A little while later, we went back to the theater to find our seats. Somewhere on the way up the three flights between the theater lobby and our seats, Kevin met up with the Hulk. As you can see, they were kindred spirits at the time. (A lot has changed since the summer of 2008, but that green tattoo on the inside of Kevin’s upper right arm won’t be washing off any time soon. ๐Ÿ˜‰

After the epic movie (epic because it was reeaaalllly long, not epic because it was that awesome of a movie … because it wasn’t really, although at least one actor — who’s no longer with us — gave an amazing performance), we walked down to the other corner to catch the train.

It was well after midnight and the Chelsea streets were pretty much deserted. Imagine my surprise when the newspapers and bags piled up around the corner there moved! No matter how many times we visit New York, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the homeless people sleeping on the sidewalks and park benches.

Thank God my Hulk was there to get me safely back to Midtown. ๐Ÿ˜€

17/365: A Child’s Vision of Family

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This is our family as envisioned by a five-year-old Lucas, who is now six. He drew the picture and asked me to write the names he wanted on it.

I’ve spent a lot of time appreciating it over the last year or however long it’s been hanging on the fridge.

The main thing I love about this particular piece of art is that our family is all together. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen very much anymore.

And we all look happy.

We’re not holding hands, but our arms are outstretched toward each other. (One of mine actually is right in front of Atticus’ face.) We’re enjoying each other’s company.

I also notice:

  • Kevin is tallest in the picture. In reality, 17-year-old Ryan is at least an inch or two taller.
  • My head is biggest … but so is my smile.
  • Ryan’s hair is longest. It really is by far.

At the beginning of last summer, I went through the artwork box I’ve kept for Ryan all these years, hoping to weed out some things that aren’t so keep-worthy. But it’s so hard for me.

Seeing those little hand-print turkeys and cotton-ball Santas takes me back to a time when my firstborn was my baby. I look at him now and wonder where he went. As much as I love Ryan today, I miss that little kid.

And I know that someday I’ll look back on this picture by Lucas and all the other artwork that he and four-year-old Atticus make with a smile and a catch in my throat.

16/365: New Perspective

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We celebrated my dad’s 70th birthday today with lunch at The Mayflower, birthday cake, and an afternoon (into evening) of conversation. His birthday was on the 13th, but we couldn’t all get together earlier in the week.

When they went to pick up the cake, my dad requested that they add that “70” to it, although, my mom said, he hasn’t been feeling that great about turning 70. I guess he decided to embrace it in a physical way. I’m all for that!

Notice that the cake in the picture is upside down. Kevin saw it this way on the counter and asked about the “OL,” thinking for a second somebody’d already eaten the “D.” But it’s actually the “70,” upside down.

It got me thinking about how just a little change of perspective can make a huge change in the way we interpret things. Sometimes all it takes is a tiny change of scenery to bring new life to the same-old.

Next time you’re in the midst of something you really don’t know how to handle, or something you’re really bored with, or something you’re totally resenting having to do, take a second to breathe and tilt your head a bit. Try to find a different angle to come at it from.

I think you’ll be surprised at the results.

14/365: Crystal Prison

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We’d just picked the kids up from the sitter’s house this afternoon.

“This is not the way to home,” Atticus warned us, as Kevin turned the car west, down a state road that would wind a bit through the woods.

“We’re going a different way home,” we said.

As we came upon the still-iced-over pond, I asked Kevin to stop the car for a minute, so I could take some pictures from the open window. The boys both gaped over the frozen pond.

“Is the water stuck, Mommy?” Atticus wanted to know. “Aww.”

Kevin explained how water is more likely to freeze in a pond than a river because it’s not moving as much.

Then, he asked Lucas if he would walk out on the ice.

Lucas said he’d walk out on the edge first to see if it would hold him, and then move out to the center if it did.

“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” Kevin said.

I explained that we can’t be sure from one solid area that the rest is necessarily solid, as well. Just because you step once or twice or ten times without crashing through to the freezing water beneath doesn’t mean your very next step won’t buckle under your weight.

(This is especially true around here in southern Virginia. My dad has old tin-type photographs of early 19th-century people skating on the rivers around here, but it’s not a normal wintertime activity. I don’t think I know anyone who’s ice-skated outside a rink, actually.)

We talked about what would happen if you were to fall in, too, how the thick ice that held your weight would become your crystal prison from underneath, fighting for air and muscle-shocked, searching for the hole that granted you access to the frigid water. What an awful feeling that must be!

And we talked about George Bailey and his friends sledding onto the frozen pond in It’s a Wonderful Life and how his brother would have drowned if not for George, who ended up with a deaf ear. (They both want to watch the movie now. Yay!)

So Kevin hammered in the lesson (“So don’t ever walk across the water”), to which I threw in a clause (“Unless Jesus tells you to walk across the water”), which he cautioned against (“You better make sure it’s Jesus”).

And then we were off to the house from the back way, through our favorite tunnel and on down the highway.

Cheap Dreams? Nope.

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It was getting late, pouring down rain, and we still had quite a few blocks to go. Ducking in and around awnings, we got a very different view of New York than our usual.

At one stop, with no next shelter in sight, the store sign hit me as strangely funny: “99ยข Dreams.”

Cheap dreams, small ones: a little ole hat or umbrella: just a bit o’ shelter; that’s all.

Nope. All closed. Gate down. None for you.

Tonight’s your night to get soaked.

(Taken July 2010)