thanksslate

I just watched the "Veggie Tale" of "Rack, Shack & Benny" with Slater. We both had egg sandwiches, "With holes in them!" (bagels). He insisted we sit together. It was not acceptable for me to sit up in my chairI had to sit with him. At first, I tried to plead my case for sitting in my grown up chairbut the defense for sitting in my comfy chair just didn't hold up to the strong argument of big brown three year old eyes and the sweet high pitched lisping voice that pleaded, "Fflease, daddy?! Sit down here wif me!" At that point, he's the hottest substance in the universe and I am room temperature chocolate. After we sat down together, I didn't watch the "Veggies" as much as I watched himSitting in my lap, looking up at the screenoccassionally tipping his sandy head back to make sure it still touched my shoulder. His big browns are so glossy I can almost see the TV in their reflection. He reaches out for my hand every so often to make sure it still grabs back. That little guy seems to be hooked on touch and physical closeness. I realize that every time I go out the front door to work.. or whereverHe must have kisshe must have a hugand most times several repeats"Daddy, ANUTTER kith! ANUTTER hug!" And with each kiss and with each hug the idea of walking out the door seems less and less appealing. It's as though he wears me downGetting me further away from the focus of my dayand taking me closer to his worldthe world of toucheshugsand"kithes." And as he does so, I think, "This is goodI haven't touched enough latelythis feels goodI should just stay home." And times like now, I wonder at what point did I get weened from all the huggingthe touching. At what point did I decide it's better to be "grown-up." And how did the idea of being "grown-up" become synonimous with not hugging and touching? It seems parenthood and adulthood have been a stark contrast between what I thought they were going to be and what they really are. It's the great paradoxOne of God's hilarious(to Him) ironies.It seems that to mature, is to be man enough to go back and embrace the child-like qualities you thought you outgrew decades ago. Thank God I've got a three old to show me the way.



	1998 "Thanks, Slate, I Needed That" -Morgan Young I just watched the "Veggie Tale" of "Rack, Shack & Benny" with Slater. We both had egg sandwiches, "With holes in them!" (bagels). He insisted we sit together. It was not acceptable for me to sit up in my chairI had to sit with him. At first, I tried to plead my case for sitting in my grown up chairbut the defense for sitting in my comfy chair just didn't hold up to the strong argument of big brown three year old eyes and the sweet high pitched lisping voice that pleaded, "Fflease, daddy?! Sit down here wif me!" At that point, he's the hottest substance in the universe and I am room temperature chocolate. After we sat down together, I didn't watch the "Veggies" as much as I watched himSitting in my lap, looking up at the screenoccassionally tipping his sandy head back to make sure it still touched my shoulder. His big browns are so glossy I can almost see the TV in their reflection. He reaches out for my hand every so often to make sure it still grabs back. That little guy seems to be hooked on touch and physical closeness. I realize that every time I go out the front door to work.. or whereverHe must have kisshe must have a hugand most times several repeats"Daddy, ANUTTER kith! ANUTTER hug!" And with each kiss and with each hug the idea of walking out the door seems less and less appealing. It's as though he wears me downGetting me further away from the focus of my dayand taking me closer to his worldthe world of toucheshugsand"kithes." And as he does so, I think, "This is goodI haven't touched enough latelythis feels goodI should just stay home." And times like now, I wonder at what point did I get weened from all the huggingthe touching. At what point did I decide it's better to be "grown-up." And how did the idea of being "grown-up" become synonimous with not hugging and touching? It seems parenthood and adulthood have been a stark contrast between what I thought they were going to be and what they really are. It's the great paradoxOne of God's hilarious(to Him) ironies.It seems that to mature, is to be man enough to go back and embrace the child-like qualities you thought you outgrew decades ago. Thank God I've got a three old to show me the way.