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Published October 22, 2009 08:21 am - Our middle child, a son sandwiched between two daughters, seemed in a hurry to grow up from the time he first learned to crawl. He was a busy little entrepreneur during his childhood, always creating ideas and projects, and always much more intense than his sisters. Son learns about trusting time By JIMMY LOWE For the Daily Times GLASGOW — Our middle child, a son sandwiched between two daughters, seemed in a hurry to grow up from the time he first learned to crawl. He was a busy little entrepreneur during his childhood, always creating ideas and projects, and always much more intense than his sisters.
Even before he had made it into double digit age, he had proved himself to be rather industrious. For small audiences of family and friends, he directed and performed plays and magic acts that featured himself and his sisters. He demonstrated a strong work ethic with his eagerness to do whatever task was available. Money he earned during his young years was spent carefully, if at all. Much of it was put into savings accounts, and he soon developed a plan to become a millionaire. I recall one spring afternoon when he rushed to me and proclaimed, “I need more allowance, Dad. Got anything I can do?” He was so anxious, he didn’t even pause for my response. “I’ll do anything. I’ll clean up the house, take out the garbage, wash the car, rake the leaves--” “Hold on,” I interrupted. “It’s springtime, the season of buttercups. There are no leaves to rake. And we only have a couple of trees.” “Then I’ll plant more trees. I’ll work hard. I just need more allowance.” That’s the way he was, always busy, always in a hurry. For one of his early birthdays, I composed a poem and gave it to him. Entitled “To My Son,” it was published in a magazine and he seemed pleased to have been its inspiration. Among the lines were these: “You run much too much/ Watch me walk/ I’ve learned to trust time.” A few days after the poem’s publication, we got a call from his elementary school teacher. He was causing a problem in one of his classes. “What kind of problem?” I couldn’t imagine any situation that would prompt such a call concerning my son. The teacher reported, “He’s refusing to run in PE class. He says his dad doesn’t want him to. Something about a poem.” So we read the poem together, and I tried to explain figurative language. He simply wanted to know if he could run in PE class or not. “Certainly, run in PE,” I told him. Then I almost added something about also slowing down a bit at other times, but I didn’t want to risk further confusion. He seems to have learned to trust time these days. He’s continuing to live a magical life, yet he’s not quite in such a hurry. He’s still motivated, though, and still busy. Today he celebrates his 35th birthday. We’ve got a gift for him, but it’s not a poem. 
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