My thoughts at present are a bit unfocused, so I'm going to post a few things under different subheadings. These are mainly ideas that have come to me recently that I haven't really developed, and that I'd like to get down so that I can sort through them. Because of this, these thoughts likely won't be polished. Perhaps later, but that's not the purpose of this exercise. This is more a step on the path to understanding myself and the things that have interested me lately.

Now let's begin:

Children's night-fears
I was recently reading through the blog of a married couple with whom I have been friends for years (before they started dating), and in it, the husband (who writes the blog) mentioned their little boy's recent development of a fear of the dark. When he's scared, he doesn't cry loudly or shout; instead he will sit and cry softly to himself, and so it was a while before they finally realized why he wasn't sleeping well.

When I read this, a strong emotion swept over me. It's one I've felt before, but for some reason, it really struck me this time.

I'm not sure how many of you realize this, but I really want to be a dad. It's number one on my list of priorities. In fact, it led to a vast number of previous choices in my education. I wanted to be an English major in high school, but I quickly learned that there are very few lucrative careers for English majors. So, as I started college, I changed my mind. First, I wanted to be a pediatrician. I wanted to nurture and care for kids. But I realized soon that I wanted a more personal connection with the patients. For that reason, I changed my major to pre-nursing- I wanted to be a pediatric nurse, in fact. However, I eventually realized that medicine did not, in fact, appeal to me. When I thought about that, I realized that the link between those careers was children. I don't want to be a nurse... I want to be a dad. And then after going through a couple other college major changes, I came to English, with the eventual desire to be a teacher. I wanted to work with kids, mentor them. Again, after working as a substitute teacher for a time, I realized that the job itself was not what I wanted to do. I love English, and I love to write, and I even love to teach, though I strongly prefer it one-on-one. But I realized that, again, the defining characteristic of the job, for me, was kids. The reason the job had initially applied to me held firm. I want to be a dad.

I don't want to just say, "I have kids. I have a legacy. Something of me will live on." Those are definitely pluses. I do want to leave something of myself behind. But that's not the number one drive for me.

I want to connect with my future children. I want to listen to them. I want to be there with them, and watch them experience each aspect of the world for the first time. I want to see the wonder in their eyes the first time they see a snowfall. I want to laugh as they take their first wobbling steps, only to collapse to the ground before they stand up and take those steps again, grinning up at me. I want to see that look of pride in my son's eyes as he skids to a halt and turns around to look at me the first time he rides ten feet on a bike with no training wheels. I want my daughter to push me out of the front room, knowing that I will be watching her through a cracked door as she opens the door to greet the guy for her first date. I want her to groan at me in horror as I come back into the room and obviously size the guy up, making some pathetic attempt at intimidating him or cracking a lame joke.

I want to know them. I want to learn just who these amazing people are. I want to hear their hopes... their wants... their fears. I want to meet them. I want to watch their stories unfold.

I want to cherish those moments when my little girl comes quietly into the room where I am reading that book I've been dying to read ALL week but just couldn't find the time, then stands silently next to me, just waiting for me to look up; and when I do, she climbs up into my lap with her copy of Hop on Pop, or Mother Goose, or But Not the Hippopotamus, snuggles in, and waits expectantly for me to read. And of course I do, because even though I've been waiting for that brilliantly written novel, this is the story that I will cherish years down the road. This is the reason I read stories in the first place: to learn more about the world and other people. This is my little princess... and for this moment, and who knows how much longer... I am her shining white knight, her dashing pirate... her Hero.

I want to walk into my children's rooms at night, while they are sleeping, and just watch them. Just know that they are there, safe, and wonderful. And if my young son wakes up, scared by a nightmare, calling for me or my wife, whoever she may be, I look forward to the times when I groan, mumble something unintelligible, and stumble out of bed, sandy-eyed and monstrous, slog down the hallway to his bedroom, and sit on his bed as he tearfully tries to recount what it was that had scared him. I look forward to the quiet conversations in the nighttime, illuminated only by a night light, or perhaps the dim light from the hallway, where he tells me the things that are on his mind. Where I listen to his rambling thoughts, and am finally able to realize that he saw the shadow of a tree branch on his blinds, and his youthful and vibrant imagination transformed it into the withered claw of a strange creature, or that the simple uncertainty of darkness brought forth creatures he couldn't even begin to describe, because they exist only in his rapidly growing mind, and his mind is searching for any possible explanation for what he senses but does not see.

I look forward to seeing my children puzzling out their problems, not necessarily needing any insight from me, but instead simply wanting someone to listen to them. Likely there will be times when I'll be able to offer some small wisdom to them. But then there will be other times, when as they recount things to me, they are able to make connections and come to their own conclusions.

I even look forward to the fights. To the late nights worrying whether they're okay. To the frustrated confrontations. To the uncertainty about whether they're alright. To the long, worried discussions with my wife. "Are we doing the right thing? Are we raising them right? Do they know that we love them, even if they don't understand the rules we place on them? Do they realize that those rules are there because we love them?"

Hopefully, they will.


That section turned out being much longer than I initially planned, and I think I had better get to bed now. Perhaps in a later post, I will type out my thoughts on modern film trends. It doesn't fit in here. Good night, friends.