My son, a happy and healthy child, has never wanted for anything.
And this sometimes worries me greatly.
If you’re the kind of father that has had the luxury of raising your son in far better circumstances than you had as a child, you are required to spend some time wondering how he will ever develop into a complete human without the character-developing experiences that only poverty and lack can provide.
It is a conceit of the insolvent that the upside to their struggle is that those better off are of somewhat weaker character, having been deprived of the need to make difficult choices.
Whenever this thought overtakes me, I first remind myself that this is ridiculous and that I mostly think it because it makes me feel better about my own life.
Then I remind myself of the first time I ever caught a glimpse of my son’s humanity.
One warm summer morning, I took him to the playground in a park near our apartment. And because I did, I’m sure his mother was out of town on business — for whatever reason, I become the kind of father that makes pancakes when my wife is out of town. He was very young then, maybe three or four years old. Young enough that he still fit comfortably in the little bucket seat child swings.
It was early so the park was nearly empty. He’d been running around in the water sprinkler and made a sudden turn, causing his little Crocs to fly out from under him.
He’d slid like across the slick concrete like a baseball player stealing third.
There were a few tears, but he was fine.
Later, as the park began to fill, I took him over to the little swings and pushed him, letting him do flying kicks to my face for a few minutes.
He always loved that.
While I’m recovering from yet another foot in the mouth, he spots another little boy racing around in that same sprinkler, and yells to him.
“Boy! Hey, Boy!” he yells. “It’s reeaaaalll slippery!”
He’s leaning forward in the swing, desperately trying to make his voice carry enough so that the kid doesn’t, through his own ignorance, hurt himself.
It is the first time that I remember being genuinely proud of him. It showed me that all of that pancacke-eating, sandal-wearing, and unconditional love-getting might still lead to a good man.
Who knew?
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This post was previously published on Medium and is republished here with permission from the author.
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Photo credit: iStock