Waiting For the Future

My kid is only eight months old. But sometimes I find myself literally bouncing off the walls imagining who¬†he’ll be and what he’ll look like when he’s five years old, ten years old, graduating highschool. I know that so much of the fun of having kids is watching them grow up and experiencing them change from day to day, but if someone offered me a photo of him at twenty-one, I’m not sure there isn’t a price I wouldn’t pay to sneak a peek at the man he’s going to become.

On the other side, I wonder quite a lot about the sort of dad I’m going to become.

As I sit here typing this post, at the table next to me is a family eating lunch. Their seven year-old keeps complaining about the bagel he’s eating. He ordered cinnamon but now wants chocolate chip. It’s too hot. I want to spread my own cream cheese. His father is getting frustrated and threatening to send him outside.

My kid is still at the wonderful stage where all you can do is be awed by him, laugh with him, and get frustrated when he won’t stop crying. But I certainly can’t get mad at him yet – he’s still without fault. But how will I react when he’s older and on my last nerve after a long day?

I hope I’m kind.