“Look at the sky,” I tell them when we’re in the car.
“Look at the sky,” I tell them when we’re in the yard.
“Look at the sky,” I tell them when I happen to see it myself out the window.
I just don’t want them to miss it. I just don’t want my kids to miss it, with their faces down in their laps, staring at their phones.
It never gets old for me. I never get tired of seeing the magic happening above my head. But sometimes, they’re unimpressed. And it kind of hurts my heart a little bit. It hurts me that they don’t get it. That they’re not really seeing it.
Just this morning as I was taking my daughter to school, I was so taken by the pink and the blue and the purple meting together and streaking across the sky and I said to her, “Look. What am I going to say?”
And she said, “Look at the sky.”
So she’s hearing me. She is. And some day, she’ll be looking too.