Just a Drop

We’re cruising down the road toward Michael’s school, ready for his second-to-last day.

“Kidz Bop” CD #4 is playing, Michael’s current choice for drive-time musical accompaniment.

We pass rows of houses, those infamous spinning trees, a set of apartment buildings and a construction site. My mind is abuzz with the usual mental din, the background clamor consisting of thoughts of work-related trials, bills, kids schedules, plumbing problems, rodents and a host of other annoyances beseeching my attention.

“Daddy, look! They’re flying!” Michael suddenly says.

“What’s flying, sport?” I ask.

“The drops! Up there!” He points to the windshield. I can see little drops of water, remnants of yesterday’s gully washer as they travel up the glass, buffeted by the wind.

“Oh, yeah. Look at that,” I say.

Suddenly I’m transported back to the early 1970s, and I’m the young passenger staring out the car window at the little drops of water that dance and play across the glass, and imagining that each one has its own little universe. I used to wonder what was going on in each of these little drops of water, what they might be thinking, what business they had that drove them to follow the courses they took. My mind was a free space of possibilities and wonder unhindered by the burden of adult responsibilities.

I remember a specific instance in which my mother had picked me up from school early, probably because I was claiming to be sick, and I was forced to run errands. And it occurred to me that on that day my mom’s mind was probably roiling with troubles as well, no doubt wondering how she’s supposed to get anything productive done with a small boy tagging along.

“Where are the drops going?” Michael asked, snapping me out of my reverie.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure they have business somewhere,” I said.

After checking Michael in at school, I drove on to work in silence.

But I spent a little extra time wondering at water droplets while waiting at stop lights, and a little less time listening to my internal clamor.

And I made a mental note to do that more often.