“Time is what prevents everything from happening at once.”
~John Archibald Wheeler
Most of the time when it’s my turn to pick up Max from preschool, I admit, I’m running at least a little bit behind. Often, I leave my desktop scattered, but do all I can to ensure the clouds in my mind are clearing by the third red light. My alone time with Max is well earned and I owe it to both of us to make certain I’m able to draw the most from our minutes.
Last week I finished a batch of work early, too late to start something new but just enough time to decompress without rushing my drive. I can almost always use these few extra minutes to decompress, but rarely do I indulge. I parked the car, crossed the lawn, and found myself standing in front of his classroom a full fifteen minutes before pick-up time, all alone amid a surprisingly sudden spring chill.
When I fell to sleep that night, it was with an extra quarter of an hour well worth remembering forever.
Opportunities to observe my children without them knowing are few and far between. I would surrender all I had and slowly pay it back were I offered the chance to nestle inside their heads for a while or more. I was thrilled for a chance that afternoon to be a fly on the wall. Max was in class, back to the window, his teacher pretending not to notice me on the other side of the long pane of glass. The door was closed but the walls were thin, and among the dozen voices singing in a circle, I could clearly hear the one who carried half my DNA.
It was wonderful to see Max as a student without him knowing I was there. He sang, he danced, he took turns. He said thank you, he smiled, he laughed. With just a few minutes to go before the door would swing open and Max would yell, “DADDY!” as he furiously ran into my arms, I realized with the iron weight of the innevitable that it was likely the last time I would ever have the pleasure of seeing him as an unguarded preschooler.
In the fall, Max will start kindergarten and the first chapter of my children’s lives will have finally faded into yesterday.
The sudden certainty was a dull mallet thudding against the soft skin of my slowly beating heart. This summer will bridge the gap between who he was and who he will be. In the fall he will be spending days as his sister has for the last two years, far from our eyes and constantly surrounded by the sights and sounds of a separate life. This is the natural order and all is as it should be, but I still feel it turning in my gut like the aftermath of a rich holiday meal.
The next day, I drove to pick up Mia from school while Max took an afternoon nap. Our family friend Fay just turned six, so the two of us stopped by her house for a moment to drop off a small gift. We hadn’t been there for a few months, but Mia immediately dropped to the same spot where she’d drawn on the concrete during the last visit, making long arcs of washed out color while I talked to Fay’s dad and grandma, keeping watch from the corner of my eye.
The months have only made her more beautiful. She looked so big there, drawing her name in chalk no different than she did the last time. Her letters a little loopier and her Y a little longer, legs now spilling a little past the edge they merely met before. My thoughts immediately drifted back to Max who seems to have shot up three inches in the last month as the last of the toddler disappeared from his cheeks.
I know I talk about the passing of time an awful lot. It’s one of my most consistent themes, both here and in my most private pages. I can’t help it. My favorite stage of the rose has always been when the blooms are full and the petals are about to drop – the perfume so pungent it permeates the air.
The rose in that moment will never be more striking, it’s scent never richer. The petals drop and all is left to memory.
About Sean Platt
Hi, Writer Dad. I don’t drop by often but when I do it’s for posts like this. You were given such a precious gift that day, and now you have gifted us with it, as well, through your writing. Thank you.
Hi, Writer Dad. I don’t drop by often but when I do it’s for posts like this. You were given such a precious gift that day, and now you have gifted us with it, as well, through your writing. Thank you.
Beautiful stuff Sean (or Writer Dad or whoever you are!). I went through all this with my daughter. At each stage of their life, including adulthood, you still have feelings of being a parent. They are just different feelings. I’m 48 and my mom still tries to “mom” me. :-)
Beautiful stuff Sean (or Writer Dad or whoever you are!). I went through all this with my daughter. At each stage of their life, including adulthood, you still have feelings of being a parent. They are just different feelings. I’m 48 and my mom still tries to “mom” me. :-)
I love it when you talk about the passing of time. It’s a topic I think a lot about too. I always assumed everyone does. It’s one of life’s little games wit us. One of the cruelest games.
What a beautiful moment. I can relate. I still get to watch my kids once in a while without them realizing I’m watching them. It’s a pleasure and a thrill that only a parent can understand.
I love it when you talk about the passing of time. It’s a topic I think a lot about too. I always assumed everyone does. It’s one of life’s little games wit us. One of the cruelest games.
What a beautiful moment. I can relate. I still get to watch my kids once in a while without them realizing I’m watching them. It’s a pleasure and a thrill that only a parent can understand.
I love it when you talk about the passing of time. It’s a topic I think a lot about too. I always assumed everyone does. It’s one of life’s little games wit us. One of the cruelest games.
What a beautiful moment. I can relate. I still get to watch my kids once in a while without them realizing I’m watching them. It’s a pleasure and a thrill that only a parent can understand.
WD: You are leaving your kids such a valuable heritage. They will surely value such a gift as they get older. I’m glad your priorities tell you to record these intimate moments now, while they are still fresh in your mind.
The passing of time is strange. Who will ever know how to make it stand still? Many times while speaking to my son, or playing with him, he will say, “Mom, pause.” (I don’t think I ever used the word pause at his age–it’s a sign of the DVD/computer generation.) He will only know when he has his own kids how much I would really LOVE to hit that “pause” button and freeze time for a moment. He crossed a rope bridge last week symbolizing his transition from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts. I almost cried as he wobbled across that rope suspended in air, thinking that it was only last year that he was wobbling across the floor as a toddler.
Dang it, Sean. You ruin my makeup more than anyone I know.
Bud: My thoughts are with you. The only occasion when time seems to stand still is when there is agony involved. Then the days drag on and on…Keep up with the writing about it though. Your comments, though filled with pain, were eloquent.
WD: You are leaving your kids such a valuable heritage. They will surely value such a gift as they get older. I’m glad your priorities tell you to record these intimate moments now, while they are still fresh in your mind.
The passing of time is strange. Who will ever know how to make it stand still? Many times while speaking to my son, or playing with him, he will say, “Mom, pause.” (I don’t think I ever used the word pause at his age–it’s a sign of the DVD/computer generation.) He will only know when he has his own kids how much I would really LOVE to hit that “pause” button and freeze time for a moment. He crossed a rope bridge last week symbolizing his transition from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts. I almost cried as he wobbled across that rope suspended in air, thinking that it was only last year that he was wobbling across the floor as a toddler.
Dang it, Sean. You ruin my makeup more than anyone I know.
Bud: My thoughts are with you. The only occasion when time seems to stand still is when there is agony involved. Then the days drag on and on…Keep up with the writing about it though. Your comments, though filled with pain, were eloquent.
Note to self – get tissue before reading Sean’s posts.
Last Sunday I watched as my 1st baby graduated from High School at (Luckily I remembered tissue and water-proof mascara) – so to all of you who still have little ones and are probably sick of the rest of us telling you how fast it goes…
don’t blink, because it will be over.
And next week Max and all the other little ones whose parents are reading Writer Dad will be graduating from High School – trust me, it will feel like that. So enjoy your parenthood journey, just remember to do it now because the scenery will be very different tomorrow!
Note to self – get tissue before reading Sean’s posts.
Last Sunday I watched as my 1st baby graduated from High School at (Luckily I remembered tissue and water-proof mascara) – so to all of you who still have little ones and are probably sick of the rest of us telling you how fast it goes…
don’t blink, because it will be over.
And next week Max and all the other little ones whose parents are reading Writer Dad will be graduating from High School – trust me, it will feel like that. So enjoy your parenthood journey, just remember to do it now because the scenery will be very different tomorrow!
JD: Max is so well behaved it’s unbelievably, FAR better than I was at his age without a doubt.
Dan Miranda: I moved to twice a week so people could soak the words when published. It’s my pleasure to share, and to have you Dan.
Chania Girl: My pleasure, I’m glad you thought it was special. I try my best to be “living happiness.” : > )
Stephen: You can always call me Sean, Stephen. I can only imagine all the various versions of these feelings I’m going to have as time keeps on marching. I’m just glad I’m trying to understand the emotions now, rather than waiting until I’m older and swimming in regret. I liked your Living Now piece the other day. Similar theme, I could easily relate.
Vered: The book I wrote, and will eventually return to, is swimming in time and the lament of time, etc. It’s one of the reasons I love LOST as much as I do. We cannot escape it or change it, but if we learn to respect it, we will be able to pull infinitely more from all we are given.
Randi: LOL, my humble apologies for all the smeared mascara. One of my favorite terrible television shows of all time was “Out of This World,” because the lead character could freeze time whenever she wanted. Can you imagine if that power was granted to those of us parents who could truly appreciate it? Best superhero power EVER!
Sandra: I know your words are true, and so I do my best to chew the juice from each moment before the pending seconds force me to swallow.
JD: Max is so well behaved it’s unbelievably, FAR better than I was at his age without a doubt.
Dan Miranda: I moved to twice a week so people could soak the words when published. It’s my pleasure to share, and to have you Dan.
Chania Girl: My pleasure, I’m glad you thought it was special. I try my best to be “living happiness.” : > )
Stephen: You can always call me Sean, Stephen. I can only imagine all the various versions of these feelings I’m going to have as time keeps on marching. I’m just glad I’m trying to understand the emotions now, rather than waiting until I’m older and swimming in regret. I liked your Living Now piece the other day. Similar theme, I could easily relate.
Vered: The book I wrote, and will eventually return to, is swimming in time and the lament of time, etc. It’s one of the reasons I love LOST as much as I do. We cannot escape it or change it, but if we learn to respect it, we will be able to pull infinitely more from all we are given.
Randi: LOL, my humble apologies for all the smeared mascara. One of my favorite terrible television shows of all time was “Out of This World,” because the lead character could freeze time whenever she wanted. Can you imagine if that power was granted to those of us parents who could truly appreciate it? Best superhero power EVER!
Sandra: I know your words are true, and so I do my best to chew the juice from each moment before the pending seconds force me to swallow.
“The sudden certainty was a dull mallet thudding against the soft skin of my slowly beating heart. This summer will bridge the gap between who he was and who he will be.”
I sure can pluck the truest statement in my life and put it down on paper and it will not be as you write it. What strange alchemy is this, Sean?
Shall I put it down to tone? Rhythm? Alliteration? It doesn’t sound like a post to me. More like music that tears at the soft skin of my consciousness. It’s that or poetry.
Such a shame I’m relatively old, but what the hell. I so want to write like you when I grow up.
“The sudden certainty was a dull mallet thudding against the soft skin of my slowly beating heart. This summer will bridge the gap between who he was and who he will be.”
I sure can pluck the truest statement in my life and put it down on paper and it will not be as you write it. What strange alchemy is this, Sean?
Shall I put it down to tone? Rhythm? Alliteration? It doesn’t sound like a post to me. More like music that tears at the soft skin of my consciousness. It’s that or poetry.
Such a shame I’m relatively old, but what the hell. I so want to write like you when I grow up.
Jan, you say the nicest things to me.
I think it’s a bit of all three. I can’t do it every time, but I try to make as many of the WD and CI posts as I can really truly matter.
Thanks for everything!
Jan, you say the nicest things to me.
I think it’s a bit of all three. I can’t do it every time, but I try to make as many of the WD and CI posts as I can really truly matter.
Thanks for everything!
Jan, you say the nicest things to me.
I think it’s a bit of all three. I can’t do it every time, but I try to make as many of the WD and CI posts as I can really truly matter.
Thanks for everything!
That was simply beautiful Sean. It won’t be long until you are in my shoes. In the fall when school begins again, my baby will be a senior in high school. It doesn’t seem possible, as it was only yesterday that took him with me to the preschool I ran. Then when he went to elementary, I followed him there. Even though they grow older and lose the toddler look in their face, their hearts remain the same and you will always be “Daddy”!
That was simply beautiful Sean. It won’t be long until you are in my shoes. In the fall when school begins again, my baby will be a senior in high school. It doesn’t seem possible, as it was only yesterday that took him with me to the preschool I ran. Then when he went to elementary, I followed him there. Even though they grow older and lose the toddler look in their face, their hearts remain the same and you will always be “Daddy”!
That was simply beautiful Sean. It won’t be long until you are in my shoes. In the fall when school begins again, my baby will be a senior in high school. It doesn’t seem possible, as it was only yesterday that took him with me to the preschool I ran. Then when he went to elementary, I followed him there. Even though they grow older and lose the toddler look in their face, their hearts remain the same and you will always be “Daddy”!