My youngest has passed a milestone: ten years old. It makes me feel old but also very thankful for what I have. It was a day spent on the beach at Lincoln Park in West Seattle, with a small, eclectic group of boys, with Tom as the very rare center of attention. He had fun. It was one of those moments that you realize that the big pay off to life is happening right in front of you. For all the logistical planning that life consists of (or avoidance of planning in my case) it is really all camouflage to the real beauty and and joy that is happening all around.
I can't help remembering that ten is the age I was when my dad died, and how that shaped most of my view on everything, and how really little you still are when you are ten. Naturally my superstitious side sees portentous omens in seeing my young son at ten and me at 52, seeing parallels and ghosts in the shadows. Generally I think such thoughts are complete crap, but there is a willful desire to connect the dots into recognizable patterns. I firmly resolve to break that pattern and live to be old enough to be a total burden to my kids.
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