I watch you growing up. Expressing your desires, testing your boundaries, pulling “cute” shenanigans. Telling me, “Pretend you do not see me,”, and then I pretend to be searching for you under a bedsheet. Running back and forth across the house while you hang off my back like a little monkey. Learning to understand your own feelings when you’re angry, asking for your own space and time to calm down.
Even negotiating with the wonderful innocence of being (almost) five years old.
“We’re reading two stories,” I tell you.
”I’d like four. It’s not late yet!"
"Three, deal?” (just to see how you’ll react, I think to myself)
“Yeah, deal, three.”
Saturday Afternoon #1
At the beach. You have new swim goggles, the water reaches your knees, and we’re jumping over the incoming waves the same time.
”Daddy, Daddy, here comes a big one. Lift me up!”
I catch you around the waist and lift you high, over the wave. For a moment, it felt like an out-of-body experience—I saw myself from a distance, seeing how much fun we were having and how silly but happy I looked, leaping over waves that barely reached past my ankles.
Saturday Afternoon #2
Our souvlaki order has arrived, and we’ve practically finished the popcorn before even starting WALL-E. We’re all curled up on the couch watching, and near the end of the film, I hear you ask, with sadness, why Wall-E doesn’t remember Eve. Your voice sounds cracked. I turn to look at you and see your eyes filled with tears. It was the first time I’d ever seen you cry during a movie.
It sounds cliché, I know. But watching you grow up, through you, I remember myself.
These were just two moments from this summer, put into words so I never lose them.
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