Play With Me
I ran into a question the other day that threw me off the normal course of my day. Time will tell just how life altering this epiphany really was but I hope to keep it close to my heart as long as I can
The question was a common one. "If you could have any superpower what would it be?" For some reason it triggered me to think of my kid asking me to play with him. Clutching a handful of Paw Patrol toys and stumbling around after me.
The superpower I want is to be able to go back and experience times like that again. I know soon enough the toys will be set aside. He has 4 older siblings so I've lived through the heartbreak of their growing up already. It sucks. The day you realize they're not going to ask you to play with them anymore. The day they don't care about going to the park and screaming for you to push them on the swings.
All of a sudden you realize those are the things you'll miss more than anything. You won't miss not doing the chores you had to do. You won't miss not getting a report turned in on time for work. You won't miss a favorite TV show or anything like that. You'll miss that all unconditional love. That adoration you get from the hero worship of a child. You are their everything and the older you get the more you realize they were yours too.
Don't miss a second of it. Sacrifice the stuff that doesn't matter to rack up more playtime. If you do get radiated and struck by kryptonite at the same time and end up with the ability to experience things over and over again I guarantee that anyone who's ever been a parent will spend many an hour simply revisiting pushing their kids on the swings and hearing those beautiful squeals of joy.
I know I would.
Happy Upcoming Fathers Day!
The question was a common one. "If you could have any superpower what would it be?" For some reason it triggered me to think of my kid asking me to play with him. Clutching a handful of Paw Patrol toys and stumbling around after me.
The superpower I want is to be able to go back and experience times like that again. I know soon enough the toys will be set aside. He has 4 older siblings so I've lived through the heartbreak of their growing up already. It sucks. The day you realize they're not going to ask you to play with them anymore. The day they don't care about going to the park and screaming for you to push them on the swings.
All of a sudden you realize those are the things you'll miss more than anything. You won't miss not doing the chores you had to do. You won't miss not getting a report turned in on time for work. You won't miss a favorite TV show or anything like that. You'll miss that all unconditional love. That adoration you get from the hero worship of a child. You are their everything and the older you get the more you realize they were yours too.
Don't miss a second of it. Sacrifice the stuff that doesn't matter to rack up more playtime. If you do get radiated and struck by kryptonite at the same time and end up with the ability to experience things over and over again I guarantee that anyone who's ever been a parent will spend many an hour simply revisiting pushing their kids on the swings and hearing those beautiful squeals of joy.
I know I would.
Happy Upcoming Fathers Day!
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I have 5 kids. One is wrapping up college and headed out into the world, The inspiration for this blog post were my youngest. A three and a six year old. Thank you for posting and for phrasing it so eloquently. I hope others get a chance to see your response!
After watching my daughter's need for me wane and wither to almost nothing—this is, of course, what good parenting produces: capable, independent adults—I have often thought about the old days, when she would beg me to play with her, or take her somewhere fun, or to tell her one of my crazy stories, complete with recurring characters and bad voiceovers. I also remember, with considerable melancholy, an instance where she asked me to tell her a story and I demurred because I was too tired.
Too tired. How many times I have thought of that moment, regretting it, wanting to go back and slap that version of me on the forehead. I console myself by remembering the hundreds of times I did tell her stories, and by invoking the image of her face filled with delight and wonder.
Flash forward to June of this year, when my new son was born. He's a tiny human, completely dependent on my wife and me. I am already telling him stories, well before he has the ability to comprehend them. And I am armed, so to speak, with the knowledge of how fast his beautiful childhood will fly away from me. With that in mind, I do feel as if I have a superpower of sorts... at least an ability to see into the future. With that in mind, I am going to tell him stories for as long as he'll let me. He's going to have to beg me to stop.