We wait so impatiently for our children to walk and talk, and soon realize we were crazy to wish for such autonomy. As the years go on, however, there are those moments that leave you staring, marveling at this little creature, wondering how it can share your genes. Now for you mothers out there you are quite confident that the child DID come from you, and WAS a part of you: to that there is no doubt. For us dads, however, there are those moments that we wonder what was going on when you mysteriously called in sick to work those days when you really seemed fine, of why you lingered at the door after the UPS driver left.
All kidding aside, this isn’t a rant on the suspicions of infidelity. The day before New Year’s Eve I was having an innocuous moment with my youngest in the kitchen of a friend’s house. He came up and I gave him a hug, but it was an innocuous one, so I didn’t bend down to his level, just kind of stroked his hair as he gripped me around my hips…
I noticed how he had grown a little recently, and made that annoying passing comment we all heard growing up, “you’re growing up so fast.”
He hugged a little harder.
Then it dawned on me. He was going to be 7 soon. Seven years old. Man, where did that time go? So I looked and said, “I can’t believe you’re going to be 7 soon.”
He replied, “I’ll always be your little boy.”
Shit, he always knows how to make my heart melt. I crouched down and gave him a big hug.
All this from the little guy who, shortly after school started, August 26th to be exact, said in response to our wondering how he could lose everything from pencils to sweatshirts answered “I’m a mystery; I don’t exist.”