Heart of a Warrior

Back in 1857 when your father was just a baby of not even two years of age, his family moved to Nigeria where they lived for more than three years. So, your father spent an important and formative period of his youth in the wilds of Africa. Snakes in the yard, scorpions in the house, and malaria-infested mosquitos all around (this is all true!) were no match for the three Flisak kids. It is there that your father's tender, Polish heart was transformed into that of a fierce warrior.
Now, jump ahead more than a century to April of 2009, the month in which you were born. In the early part of that month, another warrior scaled the steep foothills of the great Mt.Tamalpais, the towering peak that looms over Marin County, north of San Francisco. The warrior: your mother, 9 months pregnant, 50 pounds heavier, yet still able and willing to tackle the harsh ascent up the slopes of the mighty Mt.Tam.
A painting of what Mt.Tamalpais looked like pre-1900 at the musuem yesterday reminded me about just how quickly our urban and rural landscapes have changed. Where a dirt road once ran, an elevated freeway now does, where a horse drawn carriage once passed, hundreds of cars and trucks now do, and where forested foothills once filled the miles before Mt.Tam still-forested but home covered hills now do. Things have changed but there's no doubt that Mt.Tam is still an incredible wilderness, a land of lakes, redwoods, and miles and miles of woodland trails.
During that climb back in early April, your Mom paused a couple times to note, "Little Rai is certainly moving a lot today. I'm having contractions..." Still, she continued, climbing. A few days later, the warrior princess' water broke signaling your intent to join us in this world.
With this mother and father, it is no wonder that you, little Rai, emerged a warrior yourself. And, what is a warrior without a name? We struggled with this all day until this morning when you gave us a sign. Drinking your morning brew, you pushed that bottle out of your mouth as you often do. This time, however, the flying bottle left a trail of milk in its wake. That spray left no one unscathed, least of all, you. With a trail of milk droplets on your face like some tatooed jungle warrior, you had given yourself your warrior name: Rai, the Lactose Warrior.