I know my kids are only young once. You hear it all the time, whether you’re walking down the street with your kid, or taking them to the grocery store. Basically, in any public place, you’ll find an older person who smiles and says, ”Oh, look at him,” or just giggles to themselves. And these strangers are right. My son is cute. He’s six. He says cute stuff, and does cute stuff all day. So much so, that I don't see it. I take it all for granted.
And then there’s days like today, when the kindergarten class opens its doors and lets me in to say goodbye. They sing a few songs, and read from their journals. Each kid announces their favorite thing they learned. Most kids say reading. Reading! They can read now. It’s such a big deal and the little goofs take it all in stride. Then they sing another ditty with a sad melody. It’s all about hope and love and appreciation, and I look over at my wife and the tears are running down her cheeks. I point at her and smile, and my son sees her crying and laughs. I know it sounds mean to mock my wife like that, but she doesn’t mind, and maybe she knows that laughter is the only thing that will stop me from crying too.
The school year has flown by, and the kid is getting big quick. Soon he’ll be old and gone, or on his phone like my daughter. And then I’ll try hard to remember what his little self was like. Then I’ll see some toddler waddle through the park, and a wonderful flashback will strike.
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