It was ten, maybe eleven years ago. I was picking my oldest kid from school, he was 4 or 5. When he came out, I gave him a hug. We walked to the car, I buckled him into his car seat, and hugged him again.
"Hey, dad, why are you hugging me so much?"
"Because I love you so much. I want to hug you as much as I can, because someday there'll be a moment when you won't want hugs from me anymore. And that's ok, but I want to do it all I can while you still like it"
He didn't ask more. I could tell he was processing my answer. I got into the driver's seat and drove home.
When we arrived, and I was helping him get out of the seat, he stopped, looked at me, and said:
"Dad... I will always, always, hug you".
And well, the moment I predicted arrived three or four years ago. He's still a loving kid, but he's quiet and distant around the family.
I spend most of my time with the little one now. The one who hasn't closed the door to his room and put on headphones.
Yet.
I'm very mindful of that yet.
I've been feeling nostalgic lately. I have both kids at home right now. They're both lovely in their own way.
Nostalgia is easily mistaken for sadness, but they aren't the same thing. And I know it, I often have to remind myself that the past was beautiful, but so is this present.
I'm still the "hey, dad" to these two little human beings, even if it sounds different now.
A few weeks ago I told the older one about that moment we had. He smiled, let out an embarrased little laugh, looked at me, nodded, and kept on with his thing.
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