Special Three-hour Trip

Two of my favorite topics for “inspiration” exercises when I conduct a creative writing seminar are:

“The best thing I ever did for a child”
“The best thing an adult ever did for me as a child” 

 

I like them because I always get stories that move me to tears or tickle me to laughter, even from non-writers. Somehow, at one point in everyone’s life, an act of kindness—big or small—is etched in the heart.

It seems to be waiting for a chance to be retold. And when it is, it leaps at you, larger than life, as though it is happening for the first time. The emotions are fresh, and the images, crisp. Every word is caressed before it is finally released.

The beauty of these exercises is that they are not exclusive to seminar participants. Each time a story is retold, I remember my own two stories, and I am transported to certain special days and times when magic was real.

Let me tell you about “The best thing an adult ever did to me as a child.” As in research, this falls under the category, top-of-mind recall.

I must have been five or six years old when my father brought me to the nearest city from the small town where we lived. It was a three-hour bus ride. The purpose of the trip I can’t recall because it is irrelevant. But it must have been important for me to merit this rare, just-him-and-me, out-of-town treat.

On our trip home, the bus was packed. Aside from their bags, the passengers had with them big boxes, live chickens, sacks of rice, firewood, and many more. The conductor instructed all adults that the children they were with couldn’t have a seat except their laps. (Have you tried sitting on someone’s lap? It’s cozy for a while but it’s the most uncomfortable place to rest on, well, on a three-hour bus ride anyway.)

My dad crossed his legs and let me sit on the space where one of his legs would have been. From where I sat comfortably, by the window, I had the most spectacular view of many town plazas, rice fields, scarecrows, carabaos, birds, all kinds of people doing interesting things, and if I stretched my neck, I would see the mountains afar and the cloudless sky.

And my dad, he stayed in the same exact position--for three hours.

End of story.

Huh? That's it?!

I know it’s nothing earthshaking and may seem a little trivial. But why do I smile and feel warm whenever I remember that day? Why does it top my list as the best thing an adult ever did for me? Why is it that on Father's Day, it is the most vivid image I see when I think of the good times I had with my father?

Beats me.

What I know is that children are different from adults in ways we can never fathom. They treasure things adults ignore or may think insignificant.

In one of my book talks in Cebu City, a little girl about five years old came to me, touched my face so I could focus on her, and recited one of the pages of my book, “What’s for Breakfast?” from memory. I was so moved by her effort I hugged her.

“That’s the devotion for my birthday, May 5," she said.

“Oh, wow, you memorized it!” I said.

“You read it to me when you were here in Cebu one other time,” she said.

“I did?!” I honestly couldn’t remember.

“Yes, you asked me when my birthday was and you turned the book pages to my birthday and you read aloud the whole page!” she said, her eyes shining like 1,000-watt bulbs.

I . . . simply . . . couldn’t . . . remember.

I said a little prayer that when this little girl grows up, she will include my reading of her birthday devotion in her list of “The best thing an adult ever did for me.” It is now in mine as "The best thing I ever did for a child."

My father might not have thought much of that three-hour bus ride when I was five or six, but it stands alone as the best thing an adult ever did for me.

Enjoy the Lord's wondrous grace as you celebrate Father’s Day . . .