Note: I originally posted this on my Facebook account on November 8th, 2008. However, Facebook is getting rid of their “notes” blog-like ability, so I’ve moved this content to my blog, with some edits for clarity.
A tall and thick web of branch silhouettes cut the night sky. A few stars and a bright moon cut through, enough to dimly illuminate the forest around us. There was nothing extraordinary about it, other than the infinite richness around us. We were with other dads and daughters, and we all went for an ordinary walk at the campsite. My eight-your-old daughter and I walked hand-in-hand. Being with her friends excited her, being with me excited her; yet we were walking as if to get the mail.
When I was 8, I played alongside a lake against a star-splattered night with my brother and sister. Kris showed me the Milky Way; Karen showed me the isthmus to a usually unreachable island. That was also an ordinary night, a night that now sneaks up and extraordinarily fills me.
For my daughter, that walk was just a brief moment between the scary campfire stories, marshmallow smores, and watching and playing with the campfire.
For her dad, it was something else.