Putting Up a Wall.

Blocks are quite possibly the most common toy in our world. The reach of a simple set of blocks easily transcends Barbie dolls and toy cars. All children will at one point or another, pick up a block and do something with it. What do blocks teach children? What do they teach us? How are we better for the experience of playing with these little cubes? A few weeks ago we decided to have a day out at the mall. Kimmy’s back had been giving her problems. She went in search of relief. Kimmy found it in the form of a massage place in the mall. It at least had a store front, it wasn’t just a massage table set up in the middle of the walkway. The establishment looked halfway legit so Kimmy decided to go for it. Meanwhile, We had two problems to address. Neither one of them could accompany their Mommy to her appointment. I got about 40 feet out the door before Lizzie had an emotional breakdown.

“Where’s Mommy?”

“ Mommy is getting her back fixed, Lizzie. She will be done soon.”

“I don’t want her to get her back fixed Daddy! I don’t want her to get her back fixed. I want her to go at the mall with us! Now!”

I thought that she would be perturbed about the idea of mom leaving us for 40 minutes. I figured the only option was to keep walking through the mall. We started the circuit of shops, taking care to avoid the businesses catering to Lizzies demographic. I didn’t really want to drop $50 at the Disney Store on a keychain size Minnie Mouse, or go to Build-a-Bear. That would be reinforcing the bad behavior of crying, right? We walked to a place that I hadn’t seen before. “KinderSpace” looked like another shop, not a playground. I was intrigued. Lizzie and I went in. I was greeted by a 30-something woman in her late thirties. I could tell by the perfume that plumed I from her, the smoke-break she just took provided Wanda with just enough nicotine to go around in her system to stand between her and getting fired for asphyxiation of a child.

The most prominent thought on my mind was the prospect of having to entertain my “mommy’s girl” for the next 40 minutes, while keeping my other daughter happy in her stroller. This “KinderSpace” appeared to be sent to me from above. Sweet! I walked toward the counter.

“Hello, Welcome to KinderSpace! Have you been here before?”

“No, First time. Is this like a daycare or something?” I looked over at a few children playing in the corner on a rock wall. They seemed to be having fun. Maybe this would be a good idea.

“Ah Okay. Well KinderSpace is a service that helps parents get their shopping done without having to worry about their kids. We take care of them, we can entertain them and keep them playing while you get to enjoy your experience at the mall!

“Cool.” Yup, she basically described what I was looking for. “What is your rate? Is this like an hourly thing?”

“Well, we have different packages to choose from.” Wanda gestured up to the board hanging from the ceiling. An hour started at $45. It went all the way up to $100. I looked back through the McDonald’s style mesh at the play ground. The kids did seem to be having a good time. With perfect strangers that they would never see again. For quite a bit of cash. Maybe we could take one more lap around the mall. Then we could go back and Lizzie could go to the KinderSpace.

“Okay, we’ll be back in a few minutes.”

We left for another lap around the mall, taking care to avoid Disney.

“Where is Mommy? I want her!”

Yeah, so do I kid, I thought to myself. “She is still getting her back fixed. We’ll see her in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Lizzie stuck her fingers back in her mouth. I’m really starting to worry those fingers will be a gateway to another oral fixation, a-la cigarettes.

I went to the family lounge.. I knew there was a couch, a television with Thomas the Train on a loop. And a changing station, if heaven forbid Charlotte didn’t keep her composure.

“CLOSED FOR REMODEL”

Well, that had formidable consequences. I still had about 40 minutes to fill. We kept walking. I noticed that the internet had indeed taken its toll on brick-and-mortar retail space. We passed 3 different spaces that were vacant. The last one we came upon had a temporary tenant. A piece of drywall rested next to the entrance. “Family Lounge” was written on it with a paint pen. Maybe we could crash there for a half hour. Inside, we found an empty retail space furnished with a couple folding chairs, a few second- hand toys, and a random table. I saw a modest collection of oversized LEGO-type blocks. Charlotte was nearly asleep in the stroller. I only needed to entertain Lizzie. Lizzie had one thing on her mind- Getting back to Mommy. I parked the stroller and went to the blocks. Lizzie wasn’t exactly enthused when I looked behind me to see her looking out the door for Kimmy.

The blocks, while not very impressive in quantity, were all pretty much the same kind- 4x2 bricks of varying color. I had Lizzie in a place where she wouldn’t run off. My other kid was asleep, I’d say I was doing pretty good. I even saved myself from paying a hundred bucks to Wanda, the chain-smoking childcare attendant to watch my kid for an hour. Then I started thinking. What was I purchasing with that $100, should I choose to give it up? What exactly would be my gain. I wouldn’t have to deal with an overly attached mommy’s girl for an hour. Lizzie was indeed annoying. I couldn’t get her to like me. No matter what I tried, she always wanted mommy. Journal, forgive the colorful language, but she Effing pisses me off. I cant get through to this girl. A hundred, two hundred, whatever… she would be someone else’s problem. I started to understand their business model.

Shopping was hell with a child. If I wanted to go spend some serious window shopping time drooling over a fossil messenger bag that I had no business buying, I would have to serpentine through the mall avoiding Build-a-Bear, all the ice cream shops, the ghetto little coin-op rides for toddlers, the food court, the children’s clothing places… It went on and on! If I ever made it to a store that I wanted to go to, I’d have approximately 7 minutes in said store before one of my daughters had a breakdown.

But, Journal, I actually didn’t have the hundred bucks to pawn my kid off. There I sat. In a makeshift kiddie lounge, with a baby and a three year old. Waiting for my wife’s pain in her back to be resolved so I didn’t have to deal with my pain in my neck. I looked over at the blocks sitting on the ground in disarray. They were begging to be organized. I could at least do something productive if I had to sit there with a sleeping baby and a child pouting in the corner. At the risk of catching a cold, I picked up a block. I started stacking them. Maybe I’d make a box or something. The thought crossed my mind that I was probably a sight to behold. My kids were off to the side, waiting for Mom to come back, while Daddy was on the floor playing ‘blocks’. Charlotte was passed out in her stroller, Lizzie was sulking. I looked down at the blocks in my hand and what I had remaining. I got back to basics.

“Lizzie, do you know how to buil-“

“Where. Is. Mommy???”

“Mommy is still getting her back fixed. But guess what?”

“What?”

“Daddy needs to build something. Can you help?”

“What kind of somp fing?”

“A wall.”

“What kind of a wall?”

“Come see.”

Lizzie came up to me. I pointed to the pile of blocks. “We need to build a wall from this.”

“How we do that?”

“I’ll show you.”

“Okay.”

I picked up two blocks and joined them together at the corner. Slowly but surely, we developed a pattern. My goal was to use every block. At about the third layer, we found something, a rhythm. She knew the pieces we needed, got them out of the pile and brought them over. We switched off constructing our wall, block by block. I looked down at my watch after 5 minutes. Before I knew it, 5 minutes and a pile of blocks had given way to 45 minutes and a towering structure. The wall actually exceeded the height of Lizzie. As I saw her reach up to the top to put the last few blocks into place, I saw something more.

My daughter built something bigger than herself. The vision of my daughter even being a reality… My daughter was someone bigger than me. I was a human, that helped make another human. Sure Journal, I will be the first to admit that my wife did most of the heavy lifting when Lizzie came into the world- but dang. I couldn’t stop looking at my daughter in wonder and amazement. Daughters I should say. I had another one, sawing logs in her stroller. My children, my litter girls were my wall. I’ve been a father for only three years. But that day— I found my wall. I thought I’d run into it. I’d hit my wall. I couldn’t do a single thing with Lizzie to get her to like me, to find a foothold that I could use to work with her. The more I thought, the fact that I thought of my kids as a wall wasn’t a problem. It was what I was trying to do with with my wall. I looked up at my daughter, trying so desperately to reach the top of this thing that she’d built. She already had life figured out. She reached. She built something bigger than her. Though she knew it was hard to finish it, the satisfaction of watching it get bigger outweighed the trouble of helping it to grow. Journal, I love her. I love Charlotte. They both are growing so fast. Before long, I will be straining to keep up with all of the blocks they are composed of. But that day, I found out that walls aren’t meant to be run into. They are meant to be scaled. Though they can be intimidating, the view from the top is exquisite. And from the top, we are much taller for having had the persistence of climbing.

That night, I decided to take a different approach. I saw my pile of bricks getting smaller with just a simple bit of math. Three went into eighteen, 6 times. I was already down to 15 years before I couldn’t put my block structure in her bed. Or wake up and find that she’d sneaked into in mine in the middle of the night. I’d spent a 6th of my playtime sitting in the corner. I had only 5 equal periods of 3 years to put my best effort into building them. It’s time to stop wasting them. I made a conscious decision to build these kids as tall as I can. I don’t want to leave even the tiniest block left unused. Blocks are a wonderful toy. Absolutely filled with joy and wonder. It’s remarkable to me that I ever thought playing with them was just an insignificant way of passing time. There may be choking hazards if left unattended. They will indeed inflict an inconceivable amount of pain if you find one barefoot. But the genuine fulfillment of a block is unmatched.

Journal, a few months ago, she wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole. The wall I’d let others lay out for me was smooth. I didn’t know where any of the gaps were, any holds to grab onto, now that Ive taken the operation back, I’m leaving places to allow for better climbing. She will eventually be taller than me, wiser, stronger, up to a higher code. But dangit, I don’t want the final blocks to be laid. They are simply too precious not to savor in the hand. I want to wait to climb. But I know if I don’t build this thing the right way, I ‘ll never know how to climb it. I have vowed to myself that I will reach the top before the end of my life. I want to enjoy the view as I watch over the land my walls will surround as they start to weather the winds of life. I want the fort, the city walls- once a pile of blocks, to be my legacy. The city within, I want to be the last thing I see before I die. What will that city look like Journal? What will it look like?