I was watching my wife feed our 8 month old son a homemade avocado paste and felt a smile creep across my face as he proceeded to spread most his lunch across his forehead much to his mothers chagrin.
Then it hit me harder than I could have imagined. I was watching myself. Or better yet, I was watching what I wanted to be myself. I looked into those big blue eyes of his and realized I wanted it to be a mirror. It made me think back to my own childhood; to the pains and miseries as well as the great glories and wonderful moments.
Those memories, for years shoved back into the recesses of my brain, came flooding back with an almost physical pain. Since first learning I was to become a father, I spent almost every moment of my life thinking of ways that I would raise this little human. Immediate thoughts of Boy Scouts, Tae Kwon Do, art classes, camping and a world of other interests overtook my senses.
I thought about all of the experiences that we would share, all of the common interests that we would explore. I dreamed of showing him all of the things that I had learned, and wanting to be there for him in ways I could not explain.
And then it hit home, I realized I was hoping to raise me. I was looking forward to re-living all of the moments that made me happy and pushing for new ones that I had missed out on. When It hit me, I paused and had to shake my head. My wife gave me a quick glance with a questionable look in her eye, but her attention immediately went back to the avocado warrior.
A sense of melancholy spread through my mind as I came to the realization that he might not want to share in these experiences with me the way I wanted to with him, but it quickly faded when I realized that I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to sharing these experiences. What I had mistakenly wanted was to relive them for myself.
This life is his, and I look forward to every day knowing he will make it his own. I only hope that my own bias nature won’t bend his own discoveries too much.
I will take great joy in recording his life and seeing just where it diverges from my own. In other words, I can’t wait to read his story.