(pause)

Something extraordinary happened today.

No. That's not true.

Something ordinary happened today; and in the moment, the extraordinary flashed. And I saw it. And it was good.

- - -

Strewn about the table before me were the bits and bobs from our Christmas tree Naked, in the background, our tree stood quiet sentinel, patiently awaiting its retirement.

The LAs and I were taking a break, planning the weekend before us. Up for discussion: what movies did they want to see.

Eldest LA was having an overnight guest. I suggested that we go to the library to find some awesome older movies that they could enjoy. I threw out ideas: Raiders of the Lost Ark, Goonies, Star Wars...

"Star Wars is wrong about The Force," opines Youngest LA.

"Huh?" grunt Eldest and me.

"They're wrong about The Force."

"What do you mean, sweetie?"

"Force is something that changes the way something else moves. It influences it."

I paused.

And I started to cry.

- - -

Eldest LA had a hard week at school. She was reviewing her grades, and was crushed to learn that she did not have an "A".

When she looked into it, she found that she had not turned in a lab write-up. It was done, and sitting in her notebook, but a series of illnesses, multiple substitute teachers, and confusing communication meant...that she did not submit it.

She is in seventh grade.

She lost sleep. A lot of sleep. She was moody and distraught. In short, she was she.

Eldest is the rule-follower's rule follower. She is the hard-working, focused, student who dots "i's", crosses "t's" and is the go-to girl for any questions about what's what from her peers. She's THAT girl. She cares more about school and learning and giving and receiving credit where it is due than I ever did.

And she was crushed.

Her mom talked with the teacher, outlining the confusion. Lab was (already) submitted and was graded, recorded, and her average was restored to its "proper" place.

And she was happy.

But that's not where it ended.

We talked about what happened, and she told me what she learned from the situation. She pointed out where it went wrong, and she promised me (but I was only a sounding board...she really was promising herself) that she would not ever let that happen again. Ever.

I had nothing to do with that. It was all her.

- - -

"Force is something that changes the way something else moves. It influences it."

I paused.

And in that pause a thought flashed: I have a physicist.

Youngest is intelligent. She tests off-the-charts. She's THAT kid.

And when she says "They're wrong about The Force," she does so with indignation. It isn't right—it's not correct, and how dare they tell us otherwise!

And that's when I cried.

- - -

The LAs have seen this from time to time, but it’s been a while.

I started to speak, but couldn't. They both stared, then relaxed, and waited.

"I'm sorry," I started, not sorry at all, "but..."

"You need a hug," said Eldest and she came over to the couch and hugged me. Youngest piled on...family hug.

"I. Can't. Breathe!" grunted Eldest. We all laughed, and separated.

Youngest stayed in my arms. Eldest returned to her space. Eldest is thirteen.

"I love you...so much," I started. And then it came out...

"I didn't have this last year," I went on, gesturing to the Christmas ornaments. "I thought I would never have it again."

I paused. They nodded.

"I love you both so very much, and sometimes it..." I was fighting for the words, but maintaining composure. "It overwhelms me."

"Some day you will be parents, and you'll know how it feels to be so proud of your children that you can't breathe. There's no way you can understand it now. I hope one day you experience it. “

I paused

"[Youngest], I'm going to talk to your sister now. Please let me. I will talk to you in a minute..."

"[Eldest], I cannot tell you how proud I am of you. What happened this week says so much about you—your focus, your dedication, your...well, your 'you'. I don't care a whit about the grade—that's merely an outcome. I care about what lead up to it. The process. The care. The way you do things. You are so strong in your belief and the way you value learning. Despite all the distractions and all the annoyances, you really care about getting it right. It's amazing. And it's inspiring."

"It's like when you decide to cook. I'm more proud of the attempt and the doing of it than the outcome. The grade is the outcome. The meal is the outcome. Sure, you may overcook a part, or use the sugar instead of the salt or the salt instead of the sugar...so what! It's the way you stay true to your vision. The meal may be great, or it may be icky, but the doing of it--trying...learning...and trying again...it's amazing. And I love you so much for it."

Her eyes never blinked, but her face was relaxed. She heard every word.

"I'm going to talk to your sister now." She nodded.

"[Youngest], you're amazing." I looked at her sister. "I'm not comparing the two of you, and this is not a competition. You are different people. You do things differently, and I love you both so much it makes me cry." Another tear welled. Eldest nodded.

To Youngest I continued, "I don't understand you, and that's such a gift. One of the things I do is study people. I love watching people—the way they do things, the way they think—it's what i do. It's what I write about."

"And I don't understand the way you think at all. Yours is an amazing mind. And I so much love to listen to you and watch you make connections that no one else is making. You have a gift. And watching you grow is a delight I can't express. I love you so much for you being you...even when you drive me crazy!" I paused to a giggle.

Then, to both of them, I added, "You have been through a helluva three years. It's been brutal at times, and you both are here, now, wonderfully yourselves. And I'm crying because you're you.

"Your mother and I had little to do with it. We tried and try to keep a good environment >for you—and we screw it up all the time. I know I can be hard on you at times, and I have expectations that you don't understand. And that's part of it. But you're you, and you make me so proud."

I said a few other things. Nothing shocking. Nothing out of place.

And the conversation ended.

And we went on with our day.

- - -

Divorce gave me the gift of loving myself and accepting myself for me. One result is I am better able to see people for who they are.

In a flash I saw the LAs for who they are...and I was overwhelmed.

Cancer gave me the gift of living in the moment and appreciating each moment. One result is that it took an introspective man and gave him the gift of clarity.

In a flash I appreciated the sheer, overwhelming awesomeness of those two souls. In a moment, I recognized the gift of that moment, and the precious delicacy of the time we share.

It's easy to miss. It's easy to forget.

- - -

Something extraordinary happened today.

No. That's not true.

Something ordinary happened today; and in the moment, the extraordinary flashed. And I saw it.

And it was good.

What will be will be what will be.

I’ve got this.