What? We’re Here Already?
I can’t believe this is already my 100th Blog post. Amazing. I’m not sure what that means, and I’m not sure I want to know. Oh well, on to the post….
When my oldest son Gibson was born a lot of people asked me if having a kid made me feel old. I think people are really just waiting for me to finally grow up and stop listening to rap and wearing my facial hair funny and wearing Jordans (and calling Nike Air Jordan basketball shoes “Jordans,”) and still believing I can play ball and caring just a bit too much about my fantasy sports teams and still being able to spend hours just sitting around with my friends talking about nothing while cracking ourselves up for reasons no one else could understand. Reasonable people, still holding out hope for my seemingly inevitable maturity, understandably believed that becoming a father would send a strong message that I am not in college any more and it is just no longer acceptable to spend hours trying a figure out a way to get vaulted ceilings in my “man room” so I could install a “sweet nerf hoop.” But none of that happened. In fact, the opposite happened in a way.
When Gibson was born, I got even sillier (I learned to juggle and rewrote the lyrics to many a famous rap and rock song to address issues such as “Jammie time” and going “nighty nighty), and I honestly felt younger. For me, having a child immediately made me think of all the time we would spend together and all the cool things I would try to teach him and they all seemed like centuries away. With so much ahead of me, I had to be young…right? Things like riding a bike and sending him off to school and how to not look so white when he danced (allow me my delusions). I looked forward to backpacking trips and road trips and field trips. I foresaw baptism and driving lessons and deep discussions and college applications and explaining why a cover 2 defense can only work if you have shut down corners. There would be H-O-R-S-E games and lots of discipline and good grades and bad grades and injuries and defeat and triumph and victory.
A million things flashed before my eyes when Gibson was born. My own childhood is so full of good memories and of love from my parents I looked forward to replicating so much of it with my own children. And the thing about that was, it all seemed so far away. Little Gibson staring curiously up at me, cradled in my arms, wrapped tightly in a blanket (burrito style) and unable to even speak couldn’t have been further away from the little boy I knew he would become. But now…he’s 6! He’s riding a bike…by himself!! He reads. He writes. Heck, he emails me at work.
Now I stare at him and wonder how could this be? How could that little baby be starting the first grade the day after tomorrow? Those visions of the distant future are now newly minted memories of the recent past.
The other day, I watched him riding his bicycle around the driveway as he gleefully showed off his ever increasing skill. He was showing off for me – his Dad. He was proud to show me because I’m who he wants to impress. I was suddenly and ruthlessly attacked by emotions that only exist when you have some person who calls you “Mom” or “Dad.” I felt that tingling pressure in my eyes as I weakly tried to hold back tears. And then they came and they wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t sad or overjoyed. I don’t have a word for the emotion I was feeling. It is whatever you call the feeling when you love a person so much you find joy in their smallest accomplishments and want nothing more for you life than to watch them succeed.
Gibson never saw me crying. Neither Gibson nor his little brother Griffin have any idea that something like watching them ride a bike could reduce me to tears or that seeing them show off for me could make me delighted to feel old. But I tell them that I love them every day and I believe that they know it is true and right now, that is enough
Gibson turned 6 years old today. He starts school on Tuesday. I still haven’t given up my Jordans or my rap music, but today I feel old. The thing about it is, it’s really not that bad. I mean, someday I’ll be teaching him to drive a car and that is a lifetime from now…right?
When my oldest son Gibson was born a lot of people asked me if having a kid made me feel old. I think people are really just waiting for me to finally grow up and stop listening to rap and wearing my facial hair funny and wearing Jordans (and calling Nike Air Jordan basketball shoes “Jordans,”) and still believing I can play ball and caring just a bit too much about my fantasy sports teams and still being able to spend hours just sitting around with my friends talking about nothing while cracking ourselves up for reasons no one else could understand. Reasonable people, still holding out hope for my seemingly inevitable maturity, understandably believed that becoming a father would send a strong message that I am not in college any more and it is just no longer acceptable to spend hours trying a figure out a way to get vaulted ceilings in my “man room” so I could install a “sweet nerf hoop.” But none of that happened. In fact, the opposite happened in a way.
When Gibson was born, I got even sillier (I learned to juggle and rewrote the lyrics to many a famous rap and rock song to address issues such as “Jammie time” and going “nighty nighty), and I honestly felt younger. For me, having a child immediately made me think of all the time we would spend together and all the cool things I would try to teach him and they all seemed like centuries away. With so much ahead of me, I had to be young…right? Things like riding a bike and sending him off to school and how to not look so white when he danced (allow me my delusions). I looked forward to backpacking trips and road trips and field trips. I foresaw baptism and driving lessons and deep discussions and college applications and explaining why a cover 2 defense can only work if you have shut down corners. There would be H-O-R-S-E games and lots of discipline and good grades and bad grades and injuries and defeat and triumph and victory.
A million things flashed before my eyes when Gibson was born. My own childhood is so full of good memories and of love from my parents I looked forward to replicating so much of it with my own children. And the thing about that was, it all seemed so far away. Little Gibson staring curiously up at me, cradled in my arms, wrapped tightly in a blanket (burrito style) and unable to even speak couldn’t have been further away from the little boy I knew he would become. But now…he’s 6! He’s riding a bike…by himself!! He reads. He writes. Heck, he emails me at work.
Now I stare at him and wonder how could this be? How could that little baby be starting the first grade the day after tomorrow? Those visions of the distant future are now newly minted memories of the recent past.
The other day, I watched him riding his bicycle around the driveway as he gleefully showed off his ever increasing skill. He was showing off for me – his Dad. He was proud to show me because I’m who he wants to impress. I was suddenly and ruthlessly attacked by emotions that only exist when you have some person who calls you “Mom” or “Dad.” I felt that tingling pressure in my eyes as I weakly tried to hold back tears. And then they came and they wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t sad or overjoyed. I don’t have a word for the emotion I was feeling. It is whatever you call the feeling when you love a person so much you find joy in their smallest accomplishments and want nothing more for you life than to watch them succeed.
Gibson never saw me crying. Neither Gibson nor his little brother Griffin have any idea that something like watching them ride a bike could reduce me to tears or that seeing them show off for me could make me delighted to feel old. But I tell them that I love them every day and I believe that they know it is true and right now, that is enough
Gibson turned 6 years old today. He starts school on Tuesday. I still haven’t given up my Jordans or my rap music, but today I feel old. The thing about it is, it’s really not that bad. I mean, someday I’ll be teaching him to drive a car and that is a lifetime from now…right?
Comments
The good news is that you already know the secret: Enjoy every moment.
Now, may I please have the lyrics to "Jammie Time?"