When I was a young boy in Texas, Dad and I would often take walks. (One walk became a soon-to-be-published story.) He liked to walk, and I liked to be with him.
Many of our best walks were taken after dusk. Something about being out when it’s just become truly dark is wonderful. God knew what He was doing when He created nightfall. To a child, the night can be frightening—unless a parent is there, showing them the magic of nighttime.
In Texas, there are lizards. We’d come across green anole lizards, skinny and bright. Male anoles would sometimes puff out their dewlaps. Not for us; for the females being coy in the bushes.
The sky does look bigger in Texas, even at night. Dad and I would make patterns in the stars, just like the ancients did. He’d point out some of the clearer constellations to me.
A few nights ago, our young son was struggling to sleep. It was late, and I was too keyed up to sleep myself, so I decided to strap him into a baby carrier and go on a late night walk.
We saw stars, lots of them. No lizards, but a few fat toads. Our ears listened to the wind in the trees and the other sounds of the night. Eventually, our little son calmed down enough to rest his head, then to close his eyes, then to sleep, his head against my chest.
The magic of the nightfall walks is still there, and something tells me it will still be there when our son is the one being called Dad.