Thoughts I've thunk while sippin' at a cup of tea and reading something provoking, often get dropped here for the benefit of humanity and my own hubris.
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A bit ominous of a title… I’ve noticed that we all lead many smaller lives compressed between our birth and death. Sometimes the death of one life and the birth of the next is planned and celebrated— like a wedding. Other times, they are sudden. And still other lives shift subtly from one to another…
For instance, I used to be the father of an infant baby girl, but that life vanished for a new life as the father of a toddler. That was a gradual change that I witnessed every day.
However, my life as the father of a single girl is coming to an end, and my new life as the father of two children is about to be born with the birth of my son. And yes, I am excited about this new life, but I’m also sad to see this current life go. I know, it won’t be much different (perhaps), but still…
This weekend, my wife wanted to go to a turkey dinner put on by her sister’s neighborhood church. Being a vegetarian with bad memories of my childhood “Church Dinners” had me taking my daughter to an Ethiopian restaurant. And as we sat dipping our bread in the sauce and telling stories in that broken language of a toddler, I felt sad that things will be different.
Of course, I will still have a Daddy-Daughter day and I’ll add to that a Father-Son day. And when I come home from work, I now get to wrestle with two kids who will soon learn how to gang-up on their aging father. And somehow I’ll manage to find time to let you, gentle reader, know the sordid details.
© 2003-2005, Howard Abrams • Except where otherwise noted, all original content is licensed under a Creative Commons License (see details).
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