Love this. I'm 74, Paloma's 36. I remember the bedtime story I would tell her, and tell it to myself when I feel worried and stressed out by the world.
My son's 47, I'm 74, we joke about the magic of those reversed numbers ... I read your poem as an instruction set ... I used to be over an inch taller than my son, now I'm an over and inch shorter ... he's at least 6' 7" and yes, I followed your instructions as I read, and I'm crying. Thanks you!
Seems only appropriate for the "little boy" to comment here as well.
I've done the math as well. I'm 47 (and 6'7"). My father is 74 (and 6'6").
My boy is 14. He's exactly 60 years younger than my father, his grandfather and the second digit of their ages is always the same (excepting the 23 days between their birthdays) which is beautiful somehow.
My boy is now 6'2" and I can still pick him up because he's skinny as a rail. Though now he can pick me up too. And that is a moment that can only last a bit longer. Thank you Sherman, for this poem.
Whenever I need to lift my mood, I either, pay someone a genuine compliment or think of the days my children were babies and would wobble to the door to greet me after a day of work.
Sometimes I look at my grown children but still see them as they were as toddlers. It's a shock sometimes to think that this grown person in front of me was once so small and so dependent on me. There are times I want to ask them if that little small person is still in there. I don't because they would think I was losing my mind.
Thank you. 13 year old son. Check. Love watching him grow up and become independent. Check. Miss every moment of every age. Check. Poem that makes my wife and I nostalgic for all to come and all that has already been. Check.
Getting older sucks in most ways, but as long as we hold our memories, life is good
It does suck!
It is wonderful how everyday objects can elicit memories, good and bad. How boring life would be without memories.
I agree.
Love this. I'm 74, Paloma's 36. I remember the bedtime story I would tell her, and tell it to myself when I feel worried and stressed out by the world.
Ah, wow, yes, I still can recite his favoeite picture book by memory.
My son's 47, I'm 74, we joke about the magic of those reversed numbers ... I read your poem as an instruction set ... I used to be over an inch taller than my son, now I'm an over and inch shorter ... he's at least 6' 7" and yes, I followed your instructions as I read, and I'm crying. Thanks you!
Thank you, 6-7! My boy is 6-4 and I'm 6-2.
Seems only appropriate for the "little boy" to comment here as well.
I've done the math as well. I'm 47 (and 6'7"). My father is 74 (and 6'6").
My boy is 14. He's exactly 60 years younger than my father, his grandfather and the second digit of their ages is always the same (excepting the 23 days between their birthdays) which is beautiful somehow.
My boy is now 6'2" and I can still pick him up because he's skinny as a rail. Though now he can pick me up too. And that is a moment that can only last a bit longer. Thank you Sherman, for this poem.
Thank you, Drew. This is a wonderful response. My grabdfathers all died before I was born so I missed that multi-generational connection.
Whenever I need to lift my mood, I either, pay someone a genuine compliment or think of the days my children were babies and would wobble to the door to greet me after a day of work.
To see tge joy in others!
Beautiful. Time is irreversible and I'm usually struggling with accepting that. Only the dentist's drill has been able to make me relish its passage.
Mara! Time STOPS when I hear that drill noise.
LOL
What a gift, your son, the poem.
Thank you for this poem.
I will never know that gift.
Thank you, Jeff.
Sometimes I look at my grown children but still see them as they were as toddlers. It's a shock sometimes to think that this grown person in front of me was once so small and so dependent on me. There are times I want to ask them if that little small person is still in there. I don't because they would think I was losing my mind.
I think I'd get an epic eye roll if I asked!
Whew! For a second, I thought you were going to be a matador. Ole!
Ha!
Tender moments.
Yes, yes.
Made me smile. Same for me and my super daughter! Thx!
Thank you!
Ride a Balloon - exposing geoengineering on a family trip - Feel free to 2x. https://maryhollowell.substack.com/publish/post/101281075
executive produced by Dane Wigington https://www.geoengineeringwatch.org/the-dimming-full-length-climate-engineering-documentary/
Thank you. 13 year old son. Check. Love watching him grow up and become independent. Check. Miss every moment of every age. Check. Poem that makes my wife and I nostalgic for all to come and all that has already been. Check.
Thank you so much!
Beautiful poem, beautiful comments. Thank you.
Thanks, Kate v
Nice one
Thanks, Blake (which spellchecked to Blade so you have some vampire-slaying to do).
My son is 54 this year. This writing filled me with longing for days gone by. Tansi, miigwech. 🙏🏽
Thank you, Eileen.