See it here: https://issuu.com/bhamkidsandfamily/docs/bluff_park_neighborhood_reader_-_se_876fae390d3854/27

I have an obsession with the idea of reading to my kids at night and it being a time of deep connection and memories they’ll keep forever.

It isn’t.

The movies lie. It isn’t magical. My kids may not forget it, but they’ll also remember Daddy angrily threatening to stop reading after two sentences. If that.

Several of these fantasies exist in my head, and few of them materialize. One is the idea of walking my kids to school and having life-altering wisdom pass from me to them.

It would probably help if I had the wisdom to pass down, but it turns out that they do not share these obsessions. They pretend to hate it, even when they are thrilled to walk with friends, and the school is only half a mile away.

Granted, I used to make them walk in all temperatures and would only relent if it was raining. It’s possible I’ve scarred them, but really the worst part of the walk is their whining. Unless I have to talk to someone. In that case, the second worst part of the walk is their whining.

As in most things, however, there’s an exception.

“Weird” is a compliment. It’s best that I get that out of the way first, because I’m also fascinated by stormwater systems. The city has done some work along Craig recently, and Park Terrace has a pretty good structure in place unless you take our back yards into consideration. There’s a channel that runs from just outside my yard and underneath Park Ave, but it doesn’t pull the rainwater out of my swamp. I would love for the city to be a hero there, but I’m not holding my breath.

As it turns out, though, my number three shares this interest with me. Before he was in school, I could convince him to walk anywhere by telling him it just rained a lot and the water would be fast.

All my kids are different from each other. I knew it immediately when they were born. But Number Three is different from… everyone. He likes to pretend he doesn’t like things just to get under my skin, and sometimes it works. But I’ve noticed that while he can speak in such a manner, his face and eyes betray him, and I can tell what he likes just by watching him think.

Over-thinking can do more harm than good. At least, that’s what my therapist says. But I still do it, and what my boys assist me in overthinking these days is determining what’s really important. I don’t mean as it pertains to money or things or success. But values. Relationships.

I spoke with an old friend’s father from back home a few weeks ago. He told me that he has plenty of close acquaintances, but he spent so much time pouring into his sons when they were growing up that they have become his best friends.

It isn’t time now to be their friends. But I’ll take on that philosophy. And while I’ve learned to enjoy a good, quiet ride in the mornings through carpool, I still long for the mornings where I can say, “Hey, Anders. It just rained a lot, man. Let’s go watch the water.”