Thursday, July 4, 2013

Happiest Day

In my aunt's backyard growing up there was a monstrous tree that had stood on that spot for a good century or two. My dad scrounged up some rope and fashioned a swing that he tied on a tall, strong branch. With eager kicks and a pair of strong arms pushing you, you could soar high enough for your feet to touch the leaves. That swing provided endless amounts of joy for my brothers and me.

I remember one summer day. The breeze was streaming off the lake and we were bathed in the fresh sunlight of that golden hour before dusk. My mom, aunt and brothers had already gone indoors; my dad stayed outside to push me on the swing for a while before we joined them.

I remember flying in the pure, Canadian air. It felt as though the very heartbeat of the earth was caressing me; it felt as though every sunbeam was a personification of joy. It was intensely simple. A young girl and her father engaged in play and sharing a perfectly Piscean moment. It was innocence personified.

In the loud silence of the birds and the breeze I thought to myself:

Remember this, Tee. This is the happiest day of your life.

Even as I made the mental note, I knew how naive and silly it was to think that a brief moment as a young child would overshadow every moment of my oncoming lifetime. But I have never forgotten. My terribly young self was much wiser than I am today -- it is still the happiest day of my life.