Let Them See Us Love

She took a bite of the limp waffle fry and threw the remaining piece back into the bowl. It was so natural, as if that's what you do when you don't like something you've eaten, you toss it back to the table. That and spitting out the piece you bit off, which thankfully she didn't do. 

"Did you just throw it back in the bowl?" I asked my wife Amy.

Amy thought about it for a few seconds and then started to laugh. I laughed as well. Soon we were both laughing hard, the kind of laughing that brings tears and makes you pee a little. 

"It wasn't crispy enough," Amy managed to say between her crying laughter. 

"Oh my goodness," I said, laughing just as hard. "You just threw it back in the bowl."

Our laughter continues for a few minutes, with our two teens Beatrice and Bryce seemingly oblivious to our funny experience. Seemingly being the operative word, because we know they pay attention to more than they let on. Because they're always analyzing every single thing we do and calling out our mistakes. All. The. Time. 

I rarely take it personally anymore, though. Even when I hear, "Dad, you always do [this] all the time." This being a variety of Dad and guy behavior that I'm judged on daily. Even Mom isn't immune from the call-outs. This is normal development for teens and the beginning of them finding themselves and their own voices.

And now that they're finding themselves they're asking us all sorts of questions about our past -- before we met, when we met, after we met and before they were born. We answer most of them, but not all of them, especially the ones about when we were teens. Our teens are good kids. Amy and I, weren't so much. 

Since we've had our kids, they've watched us and absorbed much of what we do and say. Yes, they've seen us laugh until we cry and nearly pee our pants, like with the recent waffle fry incident. They've also seen us kiss and hug too long for their own good and cry, "Ewwww, get a room!" (Yes, they do know what that means now. Ugh.)

But they've also seen us upset. They've seen us cry. They've seen us mad at them and at each other. They've seen us fight. They've seen many of our high and low moments over the years. A lot of modeling moments, most of which were always grounded in love.

In fact, over 14,207,040 minutes have passed since Amy and I first met one day at the beach. Every minute with Amy and now our children adds to my heart’s coral reef.

And if I've learned anything during those millions of minutes, I've learned to let them see us love. 

One Picture Imperfect

"We are young
Wandering the face of the Earth

Wondering what our dreams might be worth
Learning that we're only immortal
For a limited time..."

—Rush, Dreamline

There's one picture from my past that crystallizes our fragile mortality and constant change. It was a one from our sophomore year in high school when six of us dressed up as cheerleaders to cheer on the girls' "powderpuff football" team. It was goofy and fun and we really enjoyed it. 

Decades later, two of the six have died (one had been my best friend in junior high), one vanished from social media shortly after the 2016 election (which I don't blame him), one had parents who were concerned about his life choices that very same sophomore year and had him taken away to one of those "therapy" camps in the wilderness (but he ended up doing well with a family of his own), and one who used to be one of my best friends (another story for another time) who didn't take care of himself, losing both his feet. 

And then there was me. I was telling our kids about the picture and what happened to all the guys and they both said that it was sad. But that was all. Beatrice is at the age that we were at in that picture and Bryce isn't far behind. They have their own friends, their own fun, and their own teen angst, and to them, life is boundless and seemingly endless.

But for only a limited time. Because then the decades go by, and the reality of immortality slips away, even when you'd be willing to do it all again, as I would. As I stare into the face of turning 60 next year, I have no regrets after hitting 59. I'm grateful for all joy and sadness, for all the failure and success, and for all the grace throughout the journey. 

When I think about those friends from that sophomore picture dressed as cheerleaders, I'm grateful to be alive and healthy and wish blessings upon those who aren't. When I think about the friends I have today, friends from high school, college, and friends whose kids have gone to school with ours for years, I'm grateful I actually have them, especially being a man in a super-polarized and very lonely male world today. It doesn't have to be that way and I've ensured it's not for me. 

The picture of me today after turning 59 in one of my favorite places in the world is one picture imperfect. A mere mortal who still dreams big for himself, his wife, and his children. And I'd do it all again to be here today.