The Art of Sitting and Watching

Kids are great at this

It was Sunday. We were walking around the lake without a purpose or a destination when she saw the dark-red Tacoma backing up to the boat launch — there were kayaks hanging over its closed tailgate.

“Can I go on the dock and watch them put the kayaks in, daddy?” she asked me.

“I don’t see why not,” I replied. We had nowhere else to be. Our campsite was already packed up, marking the end of our first daddy-daughter camping trip.

She crossed her legs, cupped her chin in her hands, and wriggled her butt on the plastic dock to get good and comfy, indicating that she was preparing to be there a while.

Ada turned four recently but she’s done this to a masterful degree for her entire life: sit and watch. On its surface, it sounds like an easy enough task, but when was the last time you sat down and gave your full attention to the world right in front of you? I envy it, the concentration and quietness.

I disappeared out of her periphery, learning long ago that when she’s locked in, my only job is to step back and give her space and time.

Two men exited the Tacoma in a routine fashion. There was a nonchalantness about them that demonstrated they get out on the water often. I had a laugh at their demeanor. Only middle-aged, working class men — of which these two fit the bill — could approach a hobby they surely love with such charismatic indifference. No smiles, no big emotions about any of it, just a quiet understanding that if they focused on the task at hand and avoided chitchat, they’d be on the water sooner.

They did, however, acknowledge Ada’s interest in their hobby with the smallest of smiles out the side of their mouth and a nod of the head, which sat fine with her, she wasn’t there for chitchat either, she was there to observe. To learn.

Rigging up their boat with the accessories needed for an afternoon out on the water was a thirty minute ordeal, give or take, and Ada didn’t move a muscle, save for a few wiggles of her legs to alleviate the pins and needles. I just stood there, watching her watching them. All this writing I do about slow living and there’s my pint-sized progeny giving me a masterclass in the subject.

Kids’ll humble ya, man.

The elder of the two men was the last to get onto the water and before he did, he stuck a cigarette between his ear and his sweat-stained hat and another between his lips. She turned to me and shot me a smile. Her proclivity towards… shall we say… blue collar activities, has led to her noticing that cigarettes are often a part of experience, which has led to a number of interesting conversations between her and I about the issues that may arise in her life should she start rippin’ cigs. She sees through my hypocritical ass, my soapbox built of cards, knowing full well I’m a glutton for cigars and pretty well anything with nicotine in it.

Her first words were after her prolonged silence were that of concern; the one man didn’t put on his lifejacket, opting instead to tuck it between his legs.

“I’m sure he’ll put it on once they get out there,” I told her with a hint of sarcasm that she never picked up on.

As they drifted out into the water, she moved to the end of the dock to watch them paddle away. Again, nary a word was said between any of them. Ada took of her shoes and dangled her outstretched toes into the water as she swung her legs to and fro.

“The water is cold, dadda,” she commented.

I stayed silent. She wasn’t looking for a response, she was just keeping me abreast of the situation.

Once the men paddled out of sight, she got up, put on her shoes, looked up and me, and said, “Can I have a fishing kayak one day?”

“If that’s what you want to spend your money on, that’s OK with me.”

“That’s what I want to spend my money on.”

We left it at that and decided it was time to walk back to our campsite for some lunch before mum arrived to pick us up. She decided we’d eat shelled peanuts and salami. I didn’t object.

“Can you show me how to crack the peanuts again, dadda?” She asked as she grabbed my hand. “We can pretend to be squirrels.”