Please tell me I am not the only one who feels jealous of my
own children from time to time… Most
recently for me it was on our family vacation to South Haven, Michigan for a
week of relaxing on the beach. About
four hours into our first full day I was doing anything but relaxing. As I was watching my kids splash carefree in
water that could give legitimate hypothermia, I found myself bitter and
jealous. I wanted to know if there would
ever be a time in my life I could feel the way they felt in that moment. I wanted to know if I could ever truly return
to a childhood mindset that would allow the carefree play they were
enjoying.
I found
myself nostalgic for when I could genuinely not feel temperature while
playing. I wondered what it was like to
not give a crap that the sand on my body would soon fill our car. What would it be like to be the one who just
gets in the car and goes? What would it
feel like to not lie on a towel thinking about whether or not we would get our
deposit back for the lakehouse so we could apply it the cost of the trip? What would it feel like to not count heads
among the waves every 5-10 minutes to make sure everyone was alive and
well? What would it feel like to not be
interrupted by mental thoughts such as, “are they getting enough protein and
fiber on this vacation diet?” or “are we going to have enough toilet paper to
last the week?“ or “when was the last time they applied sunscreen because I
can’t handle the guilt of them getting skin cancer as adults because I wasn’t a
diligent enough mom!”
Vacations
are meant to help us turn off, but for parents they often require more turning
on. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed this
trip immensely. I went for two quiet
walks in the morning. I read about 20
pages of a book I have been trying to sneak in all summer. I sampled amazing local fruits and the
concoctions they had been turned into. I
watched some amazing sunsets. I ate
chocolate malt ice cream. I jumped in
the waves when the water temperature rose.
I didn’t feel hot once!!! And I
did sneak away for a bit for a special dinner thanks to my parents. But, there was still that nagging feeling of
responsibility that parents can never quite escape, and I was in need of a
humbling smack in the face for my grumpy attitude.
The smack
in the face came when I least expected it – on a day that was completely about
our kids – our last day of the vacation.
I felt this urge to take the kids to a place they could ride
go-karts. Maybe on some level I knew
this would be the kick in the rear I needed to shift my thinking. We drove 45 minutes and paid too much so the
kids could whip around a track for five minutes. One loop in and my sideline eyes locked with
Avery’s as she turned the curve. I could
hear her coming before I saw her. She
was making the exact same sound I used to make while go-karting. It is a part squeal, part scream, part
laughter shriek that can only be made when someone feels both thrilled and
amused at the hilarity of being thrilled by something so simple. I could literally feel what she was
feeling. I had felt it before on the
Infield track in Ellisville, near the beach in Delaware, and on a day off from
Disney in Florida so many years ago. I
am not sure I could have been any happier had it been me driving as I channeled
her joy, followed by Tessa’s and then Maggie’s as they whipped around the same
track.
It occurred
to me in that moment that there is something sacred in being the one who
watches. In being the one who worked
hard so they could give the gift of this moment to someone who is in a greater
capacity to feel and enjoy it. Someone
who can turn off. Someone who doesn’t
get stopped by cold water or concerns about fiber and protein. Someone who doesn’t quite yet know how fleeting
and priceless childhood really is… I
realized in that moment that empathy isn’t just about relating to someone on
pain, but also about feeling the joy our loved ones feel. It can be equal or even greater to the joy we
feel ourselves.
Later that
night I was waiting in line with my dad who was going to treat us all to one
last ice cream cone. He jokingly
lamented earlier that parenting means a five dollar ice cream craving from your
youth turns into a forty-dollar expense if you choose to indulge. I guess it was his way of saying I get where
you are right now. But, I realized something
else as we waited for ice cream; he had become the one who watches the one who
watches. Did this mean his joy this trip
was being felt to the third degree? Did
my mom feel the same? After a week of
wishing I could somehow go back to the carefree days of youth, my bigger hope
became that someday I could move forward and be the one who watches the one who
watches.
As she
often seems to do in some unexplainable way, Maggie must have sensed the
magnitude of this moment. I overheard
her ask Sephus, who was selflessly carrying her five-year-old old body through
a 20 minute ice cream line (yes – the ice cream in Michigan is that good) a
question. “Dad,” she asked, “Is having
kids fun?” I turned to my dad and asked
if her heard her. We just locked eyes
and smiled – some questions really are rhetorical.
