Dad, it's not that deep
Our morning ritual goes like this – alarms go off, mom and dad tiptoe around in hopes of just a few more precious moments of silence before the cascade of questions and demands start. “MAAHHHHHM, where are my shoes?” “He took my belt!” “There’s nothing to eat!” and so on.
And then, as predictable as the rising sun, the text arrives from our oldest. “Can you drive me to school?” I’ve learned that when you’re an oldest child, even in a house of 8, little else matters than your immediate wants. When you’re an oldest child, you’re an only child. It’s as if no one else exists in the adolescent psyche. I guess those first two years when there were no siblings rooted deeply, young lady.
Once in a while, as a reward for treating me with only mild contempt instead of the customary full-blown disgust, I’ll concede to the ride. This week, the text came early.
Her: “Can you drive me to school tomorrow?”
Me: “No.”
Her: “Please??” And then appealing to my weak spot for youth sports. “I didn’t strike out looking this weekend even though the ump sucked.” Aside: getting rung up looking means you get no dinner in our house.
Her: “I need to know right now so that I can take a shower now or in the morning.”
Me: “Maybe. If I have time. But I’d keep your options open.”
Her: “Huh?”
Me: “Options, my dear. Maybe the most important thing you’ll ever learn from me. Options.”
Her: “Ugh. It’s a ride to school. Dad, It’s not that deep.”
NOT THAT DEEP? Oh, but it is that deep. It’s always that deep. And this is the moral of the story today. I am haunted by a feeling that we don’t have much time with these kids. Every interaction is a chance to give them a tool that will help them navigate the world when I’m not standing next to them. I never know which moments will encode and which will blow away like a gentle breeze. So I’m ALWAYS watchful.
My wife thinks I’m nuts. The End.
Jon, your observation, "I am haunted by a feeling that we don’t have much time with these kids," reminded me of this:
"Watching one’s small humans age and grow up packs a serious punch. It’s like being stuck in a dream unable to speak, like being a ghost that can see but not touch, like standing on a huge grate while a storm rains oiled diamonds, like collecting feathers in a storm. Parents in love with their children are all amnesiacs, trying to remember, trying to cherish moments, ghosts trying to hold the world.
"That’s me—trying to hold the world, trying desperately to catch the oiled diamonds as they fall. Beyond wanting to do a good job at this parenting thing, I want to enjoy raising my children. I don’t want to look back twenty years from now and realize that those active parenting years went by so fast I didn’t relish them. I’m terrified I’ll wish I had been less distracted and more attentive. I’m afraid I’ll come to the realization, when it’s too late, that I should have been more present. I’m afraid I’ll wish I had enjoyed it more.
"The days I have to raise my children while they are still under my roof, and the days you have to raise yours, are finite. When you picked up this book, you may have thought you were getting a manifesto on reading aloud. By the end of it, you might decide that’s exactly what it is.
"But right here at the beginning, I want to make sure you know what this book is really about: it’s about you and me going all-in for our kids, about doing what matters most with our time and energy today. Right now. Right when it matters most—as diamonds rain down and fall through the grate beneath our feet."
---N. D. Wilson, Death by Living
Completely agree about the every interaction. Acknowledging it can make me prone to over thinking my own too-quick and bitting response. But that can be a lesson too - know the right timing kiddo!