Windows of time

It doesn't take long.  One minute they're covered in goo, gasping for their first breaths of air, then bawling because they can't fit all their toy people into the playskool bus you bought them.  Shortly thereafter they get mobile and destroy everything in range without prejudice while at the same time learning to say I love you Daddy.  Then come the first days of school which they see as a fun new adventure with playgrounds and classmates and leaving you with the un-grounded and irrational fears that they may face ridicule or isolation...or as I have come to discover, parental separation anxiety, just like our dog Duke used to display whenever one of us left.

Then the fun begins.

Daddy is the hero.

Stronger, taller, faster, smarter and more handsome and dashing than any other man that has ever existed.

These are really the best years, the years you want to maximize, to freeze in time.  These are the years you discover things with them:  The beach and the tides and all the wonders of a shoreline.  The mountains, the snow, the altitude and the quietness of a remote meadow.  Theme parks and rollercoasters.  Leather-bound notebooks, Knights, Ladies and all sorts of characters at a Renaissance Festival.  National parks and monuments and roadside tourist traps.  Overpriced cave tours and under-priced museums.  Interesting downtown areas that are only interesting to mom and dad.  Summer campgrounds in new places with new and temporary friends, playgrounds, and strange 3-wheeled bikes that dad was hesitant to rent but glad he did.  Remembering that dad said something about shoes and cactus and running around in the desert and yeah, flip-flops were a bad idea.  Sitting around campfires on those same 6 chairs, and the conversations and s'mores that came with it.

And sometimes, sorrow.  Like learning of the disappearance and death of a relatively young uncle, and wondering why mom and dad were gone for 2 weeks.  Then wondering why they were different when they got home.  Then wondering why they were so sad when they heard the news.

It's a cliche, but life is fleeting.  Regardless of your belief system, in all the eternities, you don't get do-overs with the time you spend with your kids when they're young.  I'm acutely aware of the age they gain every day, and regularly remind myself of the infinite value of every hug, kiss, wave and living acknowledgement we give each other. I try to treat them all like they are our last, for two reasons: 1) It could be and 2) I don't want our last to feel like I've been holding something back.  No, I value my integrity too much to let someone I love see me die and wonder if I really meant it when I said I love them more than anything.

They will be off and away soon, citizens of their own future reality, forging a life of their own and coming to realize the fleeting nature of the things they hold most dear.  Men talk of legacies and empires, and of course my children may inherit some of mine someday.  But, as far as legacies go, my only real hope is that they simply remember the love they felt from their Daddy when they were young, seeing the things they did and feeling the things they did, in that special window of time when life was new and their minds were fresh.