Losing my Grasp

Two quick stories, as a way to begin:

1. Out of the blue the other day, Andres asked me to play Star Wars with him. I was to pretend that I was Darth Maul, and he was going to cut my arm with a "light saver." I asked him what he knew about Darth Maul. He didn't know much, but did know that he was a bad guy, and that he was somehow related to Darth Vader. I also asked how he knew any of this Star Wars stuff since he hasn't seen any Star Wars movies yet and we don't talk about it much at home. Apparently he goes to preschool with some other 4 year olds who are die-hard fans, and they all play Star Wars during morning care, so this is what he cares about now. We played for a bit, and he indeed pretended to "cut my arm" with his pretend "light saver," and then he ran along and did something else for a bit.

2. This morning Andres and I took an impromptu trip to Russo's while Natalia and Celia were swimming. Andres' carseat was in Natalia's car, unfortunately, so he had to ride in Celia's carseat. (Though each car has a seat for Celia, we pass Andres' seat back and forth as needed in order to save money and open up more space in the free car.) As I'm buckling him in, he looks at me and says "Daddy what if someone sees me in the baby seat?"...the clear implication being that he was afraid of public embarrassment for sitting in a "baby seat," not that he was worried about carseat safety (don't worry--he still fit in fine, though snug).

Both these moments gave me a second's pause. What I am slowly realizing is that while I (and Natalia, of course) may still be the sun at the center of Andres' life, his path is affected by planets and stars and forces well beyond our control.

On the one hand, I welcome this with open arms. Preschool has been wonderful for Andres. He has developed some nice friendships and kinships, and especially over the past few months he has come home with all sorts of new interests.

Space is his new obsession; he talks a lot about the planets and asteroid belt and which planets have rings and which planets don't. His favorite planet? Earth, of course--though I think he may still be confused about Earth's position (and importance) in relationship to all of the other planets he has studied. Last night we were outside looking at Venus, Jupiter, and Mars, and for a moment he wondered where Earth was in the night sky--until I reminded him that we live on Earth. "Oh," came the reply, though I suspect it may take him a while for him to grasp how the heavenly bodies work. It does for most people, myself included.

These new interests are self-selected. I'll gladly take hm to the library and check out books about space, but he is the one pushing that topic. The same is true of Star Wars. I think it's interesting that his peer group loves the series so much and that he has been sucked into it as well. And it's nice that he is trying to connect with his peers by sharing their interests, and by being a willing party in their games, even if he doesn't understand the difference between a Wookie and a bear. (And he doesn't--he told me he didn't like Chewbacca because "he was a bear, and I don't like bears.")

And yet...on the other hand, these two stories both provoked twinges of sadness, brief jolts to my system. He's growing up. And though he's not that old yet, for the first time I've seen the pattern in motion, the wheel begin to turn, as he becomes his own person and slowly, inevitably adopts an orbit all his own.

One of the joys of having young kids--I'm talking really young kids, like babies up to age 3 or so--is that you, the parent, are present for nearly all big, milestone events. The first time your baby smiles. The first time he laughs, the first time she rolls over, the first steps. They are shared events and they are shared by a small constellation of loved ones. There's an intimacy to those moments.

Naturally, Andres has hit all those big milestones. He is still growing and changing, but now those moments are happening away from us, whether at school or on the playground or among his friends. He lives with us but he no longer lives solely for us; he has his own interests and concerns to follow.

And that, I think, is where the twinge of sadness comes from. As his worldview broadens, there is no way that we can be alongside him every time he experiences something new. I care less about the fact that he knows who Darth Maul is than I do the fact that someone else introduced the character to him; my role, as father and Star Wars nerd, has been usurped.

But I know this will continue to happen; this is the natural order of things. I feel like a rock climber who, for a good part of a climb, has had a sturdy hold on the rock face. And then all of a sudden a small rivulet of water drips down the mountain, making the rock slick and forcing the rock climber to lift a few fingers to retain his grasp. All of a sudden things aren't as stable as they used to be. Soon the trickle becomes a wider band, and the climber has to hold on with one hand as he grasps for dry surface with the other. And then, looking up, he sees the full force of a river rushing down upon him, and knowing that resistance to the river is futile, lets go and falls, effortlessly, into the clouds below, comfortable in the fact that there was nothing he could do to change his fate.

It's a long road between where I am now and where I will be when, say, Andres is 18. But the fog is starting to clear, in spots, and I'm beginning to see how that road is traveled.

Then I turn around to see Celia, still desirous of parental attention all the time, largely immune to the concerns and ideas of others. And I smile.