I recently watched a 5 minute Greek film depicting a father and son relationship. I was touched more than I'd like to admit. I was affected similarly the other day when I noticed an older couple watching Ava and me walk hand in hand out of the grocery store. They watched and smiled sweetly, without words suggesting "It all goes by so quickly." It's all a bit cliche, I know, but I can't think of another aspect of life where the passage of time is felt more viscerally than in parenthood. With the passage of time in parenthood comes change, innocence lost, immeasurable joy, and realizations that are both painful and painfully hilarious**. As I've mentioned here before, it's thoroughly enjoyable. And terrifying.
I typically bound up the steps in our house two at a time. It's not for exercise. It's not because I'm in such a hurry that I can't be bothered with a more monotonous climb. It's basically because I'm impatient and usually I'm going upstairs (unless it's bedtime) because I forgot something. And if I've forgotten something upstairs it means I've probably forgotten it repeatedly: go upstairs to get something, see something shiny, forget about what was forgotten originally, descend the steps with shiny new object only to realize that I've completely forgotten what I went upstairs for in the first place. I don't think this behavior is unique to me. From other conversations with men and women this tends to happen frequently among my male counterparts. And our wives find it absolutely sexy. Right ladies?
Last week, right after I completed one such high speed ascent, Ava whispered to Lori, "I wish I could do that" referring of course to the speed, not my forgetful forgetfullness. The next day I was in our bedroom when I heard Ava's footsteps coming up the steps (Not hard to distinguish her footsteps--it's either a small cat or Ava. And we don't have a cat.) except for this time the rhythm was different. Instead of the step 1-2, step 1-2 (bringing both feet together on a step before continuing to the next one) it was a steady, and quick, step, step, step, meaning that she was exerting her slightness to to the max, taking each step in stride. A very short, very quick, stride. I went to meet and encourage her when, three steps from the top, she misstepped and cracked her left shin on the steps. She howled that, "I just got hit in the shins" kind of howl and demanded comfort--from Lori. After all, I was the maniac that inspired this treacherous feat. I wanted to hug her and convince her to ignore my approach--whether up the steps or in life.
But of course I didn't, nor can I. Parenthood after all is the recognition that we might be disastrously duplicated in some cases, and in other cases deliberately deleted. But despite the little time we've got, I have to think we can do some good.
**Ok, I'll admit it: this post probably wasn't motivated by Greek cinema or sweet old people at the grocery store. I'm pretty sure it came from the season finale of Modern Family.
