Two days ago, on Halloween, I rounded a corner and stopped to watch my little girl sitting perfectly still with her eyes closed. Annie was kneeling in front of her applying vampire makeup. With each passing moment, sitting still was becoming a greater challenge. Lyd was fighting back the urge to jump up to look in the mirror to see how scary she was starting to look.

I admired the moment, and thought, “I just got another hooklet.”

Confused? Let me explain…

A younger version of me (as in high school senior me) had aspirations of becoming an ornithologist, a bird biologist. How I became a Stagehand is a bumpy and convoluted story, not even worth telling, if nothing else, it’s too difficult to recall!

Occasionally I regret choosing to not pursue ornithology, until I remember that Annie has a mild phobia of birds. If I had earned that degree and had a career in the field, I likely would not have made it past a second date with Annie, and we would have never had our beautiful daughters.

Regardless, I still find the subject fascinating, and a day doesn’t pass where I am not having some bird-related thought.

My most recent thoughts have been about the anatomy of a feather. Now, here is the part where I need you to bear with me! First we have that central stalk, called the rachis. Branching off the rachis are the filaments, called barbs. These barbs are what makes the shape and color of the feather. When we think of a feather, we’re pretty much thinking of the rachis and barbs. That’s about as far as the typical unaided human eye sees. Let’s zoom in a bit more, each of these barbs has thousands of filaments branching off, these filaments are called barbules. Then, if we look even closer, we will see that each barbule has microscopic hooks holding everything together, they are called hooklets. The barbules and hooklets are what actually makes a feather a feather. Without these barbules and hooklets, the barbs would just flutter independent of each other in a breeze, unable to harness that breeze. The barbules and hooklets are what make the feather a solid and dynamic object that is capable of catching the breeze and creating lift. Those barbules and hooklets are what makes flight possible for a bird. The feather is not a bunch of barbs closely running alongside each other, but rather it is a microscopic tapestry; lightweight, yet strong enough to resist air molecules. It’s a wondrous example of beauty in function and form.

“Life’s pretty beautiful too.” I thought as I watched Lydia getting her makeup, “Not unlike a feather.” A feather, in a way, illustrates life. The barbs represent the event itself, the birthdays, holidays, and celebrations. The barbules and hooklets are the memories and micro-memories that make those events what they are, those memories are what makes the events more cohesive and full. Someday I will likely not be able to recall the year that Lyd was a vampire for Halloween. But I will recall her excitement as Annie added layer upon layer of makeup. I will recall Lyd joyfully running around the house having adopted the persona of her costume.

I stared, leaning against the bathroom door frame. Thinking about that hot chick I used to date, now (even hotter) kneeling on the bathroom floor, enabling the uninhibited imagination of our daughter.

I do not recall every Thanksgiving meal I ever ate. But I can fondly recall the scents coming out of the kitchen, and the anticipation of digging in. I may not recall the conversations I had on Thanksgiving with family and Loved ones, but I will recall the feelings of warmth and company.

I may not recall the gifts we got our daughters for Christmas, but I will never forget the bed head, the tiny bare feet tucked under tiny butts and the looks of thrill and joy on their faces as they tore the wrapping off their gifts. I will recall the warm and content looks Annie and I exchanged and the feeling of her hand squeezing mine.

I cannot recall precisely when Regina took her first steps. Ask me for an age? A date? Not sure really. She walked kind of early…I think? I can however, recall her arms outstretched, the expression of excitement and her semi coherent exclamations as she stumbled like a tiny drunk toward me.

As I get deeper into this life, I’m beginning to appreciate the tiny moments, the barbules and hooklets, those things after all, are what makes flight possible. I’m counting less on the events, the dates, times and gifts given; and more on thousands of those “barbule and hooklet” moments flashing before my eyes as I release my final breaths.

I was then jolted from those thoughts. I let loose with a high pitched scream and feigned terror as a four-foot tall vampire pretended to sink her teeth into my arm.

Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up, don’t forget to notice those barbules and hooklets—don’t forget to fly!