Preface to 'The Freedom Scale'

Canyons, kids, and a call to all

The first time I saw the Grand Canyon in person, I laughed.

Perhaps I should explain.

My wife and I lived the first few years of our marriage in a modest house in a bad neighborhood in Los Angeles. “That’s my gang beat,” a shocked police officer once said to my wife when she told him where she lived. 

When our son was 20 months old, we realized it was time to go. It’s hard to say what the biggest impetus was—the frequent police helicopters, the periodic gunshots, or the spent .45 casings (and other unmentionable detritus) that our toddler would pick up from the ground when we took him for walks. So we moved from sunny California to even sunnier Arizona.

Due to tight finances, it took us nearly a year before we went up to see the Grand Canyon. It was my first time, and as we approached, I quickly realized that seeing it on TV is nothing in comparison with seeing it in person. And it just got better from there.

In addition to the grandeur, we also discovered that two-year-olds and the Grand Canyon are not a good combination. He did not want to stand quietly at the edge of the canyon, holding hands and gazing in wonder. He wanted to run around, and he did not seem to know, or care, where the edge was. When we tried to hold him, he would squirm free. It was impossible for us to keep him safe.

Our solution was to take turns. At each stop, one of us would stay in the car with him while the other went and gazed in awe. Then we would switch. This was an awkward arrangement, but it was the best we could think of. And as it turned out, it allowed me to have an important experience…