A Tribute to the Knight Nicknamed 'Big Air'

That's right, today's musing are a simple tribute to the young man named Elijah "Big Air" Nimon... though most of the time we just call him LJ. The Queen and I think he's pretty cool, and --in what I think is more indicative that we may really care about him-- she said he's even worth the throwing up twenty times a day the first sixteen weeks of her pregnancy with him (do the math on that one). He got his nickname at the ripe old age of five months old. On those manic Mondays (and Thursdays, back in the dark ages two years ago) when Rachel would leave for work, it was just Elijah and I-- and since we are essentially carbon copies of each other, we would both be bored in two minutes flat, which he generally voiced with great volume. So off we'd go to the Commons in the jogging stroller that I've never actually jogged with him in (quick question to any other runners out there-- is it really that much fun to take a screaming baby running with you? I run for the sanity and occasionally the weight loss, not as a babysitting tool... just thinking out loud) and I would toss him up into the air and he would giggle-- GIGGLE -- giggle, which is a sound that renews your faith in humanity. Basically the only people that don't like a baby's giggle are sociopaths and the child's siblings... for whatever reason, they seem to hate it.

Anyway, fast forward a year, and it was not only something we would do on a very regular basis, it was a ritual, much like bedtime or Sunday morning decaf dates with Daddy. I'd come home and he would toddle out to see me and say, "Daddy... big air?" (Humorously enough, this has morphed yet another year later into "Daddy, ride truck?" ... and off we go to terrorize all the old people on the block into thinking that a 2-year-old is trawling their quiet little cul-de-sac in a black monster pickup truck) "Of course, LJ" I'd say, and launch him up a couple feet. "Higher, Daddy, higher!" I remember one time I got him up a little further into the air then I wanted and caught him and went to put him down when he turned to me and said, "Do again, Daddy-- Lijah see over fence!" Apparently I had thrown him high enough that he had seen the grass in the other yard next to ours. We didn't do any more big air that day :)

Side note: if you happen to be a woman (or a man like me who doesn't like heights at all... I know, go ahead, a construction worker who hates heights... look, someone's gotta work INSIDE the house, people!!) and think that this whole thing is crazy... you're not alone. About nine months ago, we went to visit some dear friends who had just had their first, a beautiful son who was (and is) their pride and joy, when Elijah got bored and we started playing 'big air' while I continued talking to my friend. His lovely wife came out mid-flight and without taking a breath looked straight at my friend and said, "Jon, promise me that you will NEVER do that to our son." My friend smiled. "I promise," he said. "I won't do that until he's at least six months old."

Elijah's love for heights has changed. He doesn't really ask to do 'Big Air' that much anymore, mainly because he's replaced it by sneaking up and jumping off a couch onto my back commando-style (thankfully, he's never done this to young Sir Judah yet!), but he still loves him some airtime. He will often approach Rachel with a broom and ask her to pick up the broom while he dangles from it... then jump off from ungodly heights.

I know that his fearlessness won't last forever, and that even a brave little knight will be battered by this world at some point. But I hope someday he reads this and remembers (or just plain members, if he never knew) what it felt like to fly high.