Communication

In the News

Resolved for 2006: More Puddle-jumping
Elizabeth Kaeton

I don't think I've made a New Year's resolution in years. That's because for years, I've never kept one. Over the years, I've resolved to lose weight, eat better, or exercise more - okay, exercise. And, I do. For about two weeks. And then, my resolve only joins the others which pave the destination all good intentions reportedly end. Until the next New Year's Eve, when I decide to make a resolution I can really, actually keep. And then, of course, I don't.

So, for many years the only resolution I decided I could keep was to ignore the impulse to make a resolution. And, that's worked very well for me. Until this New Year's Eve. A story about a little boy named Lucho has touched a place in my heart and stirred a sense of deep resolve in me.

Luis, or 'Lucho' is the two and a half year old son of my friend, Gail, whom she adopted from Guatemala as an infant. He is also known as the "joy boy" because he has an amazingly joyful spirit. Ever since he was a tiny baby, it was clear that this is an exceptional little being. I don't know anyone who can feel sad for very long in his presence. I've witnessed everyone from the mildly grumpy to the completely stonehearted utterly fail in their attempt to resist falling under the spell of his deep, infectious belly laugh, his dark, loving eyes, or his gentle, tender touch.

His mother reports that this year, he has two favorite Christmas presents: a yellow school bus and a pair of yellow rain boots. "Lellow 'cool bus," he says with great joy as he shows it to his visitors. But, it's the 'lellow' boots that have led him to an encounter with the greatest joy known to children everywhere since, no doubt, the dawn of time.

Lucho has discovered puddles. More specifically, Lucho has discovered jumping in puddles. He jumps in them for as long as him mother will let him, getting himself and anyone near him, soaking wet. No matter. Everyone seems to enjoy his complete abandon, accompanied by the wildly gleeful giggle that bubbles up from the bottom of his soul as he runs and jumps, again and again, into the playground puddle.

The other day, the inevitable happened. Lucho had been puddle jumping for a while. Perhaps he was getting tired. Perhaps his balance was off. But, at one point, he ran faster than his body could carry him and, in a split second, his mother reports that she looked up and saw him land, face-flat and spread-eagle, into the puddle. As fear seized her mother's heart, she jumped up from the bench and ran to him, a thousand terrifying possibilities of disaster flashing through her mind's eye.

Before her outreached arms reached him, Lucho got up, his head and the tip of his nose a bit scratched, the front of his clothes soaking wet, but he was none the worse for wear. "C'mon buddy," said his mother, "let's take you in, give you a hot bath, and you can take a nap."

"No, Momma," he said, not with childhood petulance but, rather, with a firm resolve that belied the tenderness of his years. "Lucho jump," he said, wiping away the blood-tinged puddle water that now dripped from his forehead into his eyes. "Lucho jump and jump and jump and jump," he said, as he giggled and laughed and jumped again and again and again.

The story of Lucho's puddles has stirred a new resolve in me. Rather than carefully avoid them, I've resolved to jump into more of the puddles of my life. More specifically, I've resolved that when the inevitable happens and I fall flat on my face (because, from time to time, we all do), I'm going to try to find Lucho's resolve. I'm going to pick myself up, brush myself off and say a firm 'no' to the invitation to avoid the pain.

I resolve to rediscover one of life's little secrets: that the path to joy is buried deep in the memories of our childhood, which are never farther away that the shallow end of the nearest puddle. Yes, the pain of life is inevitable, but so is the joy. As Lucho knows, all we have to do is 'jump and jump and jump and jump.'