Pick up your shoes and other fatherly advice
I miss my kids so much.
My kids are not gone, in the real definition of the word. Haley, 16, Dan, 14, Lindsey, 14, and Kyle, 12, are still around, living their high school and middle school lives filled with homework, social drama, fashion concerns and more homework.
I enjoy watching them adjust to their new worlds. Haley is thinking hard about college, the twins are getting accustomed to their life in high school, and Kyle is in middle school, and becoming more independent daily.
I am with them every day, but I still miss them. I miss them when they were little.
How do I miss them? Let me count the ways. No, better yet, let me detail the ways:
• I miss waking them up in the morning, using the gentle touch to start them stirring, seeing their soft faces go from peaceful rest to anticipatory waking. Today, I wake them up, listen to them beg for five more minutes, wait for them to blame the world for their exhaustion, then wake them again when they thought maybe I wouldn't notice that they didn't actually get out of bed the first time.
• Which brings me to the next thing I miss. I miss the sound of little feet pitter-pattering down the stairs, listening carefully to make sure nobody slipped or fell on their way. Now, I listen to make sure the stairs can take the brunt of the charge that foretells the assault on the kitchen that marks the beginning of the day.
It's weird that I miss the worrying, but I realize it is not the worrying I miss, it's the knowledge that they needed me to worry. My role back then felt so much more important than my role now, which is basically that of a cabdriver and financial benefactor (“Dad, can you drive me to the mall, and can I have $20?”)
• I miss the days when simple things were so exciting. When kids are little, they get a thrill out of finding anything — a penny, a pretty pebble, lint. And when they found something they thought was amazing, the first thought was to share it with me or Mom. Today, if they have joy in their lives, it is probably because of something they don't want me to know about, and I really don't want to know about either.
• I miss the days when they would be walking beside me and reach up to take my hand, or when they were sitting beside me on a couch or bench and move over to be closer. Holding hands is a severely underrated act of affection, and back in the day, it was a thrill every time.
• I miss tickling. I'm good at it, and my kids are all ticklish (Dan, most of all). But that is just out of the question these days.
• I miss being able to watch them do anything. Little kids can sit and be absorbed by toys and games and cards and pictures and water in a bowl, and they are so into what they are dealing with that they don't notice that you are watching them in their investigation. And even when they finally do notice that you are watching, they smile and go right back to their activity. Maybe they will even drag you in, and you get to find out that a marble can sit on top of a rock, if you are very careful.
• I miss going to the movies. You take a little kid into a movie theater and you are entering a very special place with your very special friend. You get to see just how big your kid's eyes can get. You get to share popcorn, and after the movie you get to talk about how funny that one scene was.
• I miss telling them stories about what life was like when I was a kid, and I miss them caring about my stories. I miss making my kids laugh. Today, if I make my kids laugh, they are laughing at me, not with me. It's not that they are mean-spirited, it's that they are teenagers, and that's what teenagers do.
Our lives today are far more complicated than they were 10 years ago, but I am blessed with the ability to see each day as something special. So I enjoy those rare occasions when Dan and Lindsey, twins in the same grade at school, share their experiences rather than maintain separate lives. I enjoy the day Haley drove Lindsey and Kyle to a restaurant for a weekend lunch together. I enjoy listening to all of them talk about the real life possibilities that lie ahead.
But I miss when their dreams were more fanciful.
I miss being their world, their security blanket, their superhero. I miss them calling me “Daddy.”
I miss my children when they were children.
Kent McDill is a freelance writer. He and his wife, Janice, have four children, Haley, Dan, Lindsey and Kyle.