Not another farewell!
Children grow up faster than you think. Is that really true? I'm 42 now and still not particularly grown-up. For many people, that just means they can no longer claim them on their tax return.
In fact, having children is quite a bittersweet process, as you find yourself saying goodbye to all sorts of things all the time: habits, hobbies, favourite toys, outings and the stories you tell yourself in bed at night.
Children aren't melancholic or even sentimental. No. It's us parents who are.
The truth is: children are very good at coping with these losses. Undaunted, they set off towards new horizons. For them, life is an adventure. Children aren't melancholic or even sentimental. No. It's us parents who are. Sluggish and old, and no longer quite so dynamic, we find it much harder to let go. Or is it just me?
I'm just so attached to that book with the giant pear, partly—or perhaps precisely—because we've read it a hundred times. When my son said he wasn't interested in dinosaurs anymore, I was on the verge of tears. No wonder—after all, I'd immersed myself in the subject so thoroughly.
Where should we put Klausi?
What am I supposed to do with all this knowledge about the Carcharodontosaurus? And what about Klausi? That was the name of a toy bear my son used to adore, only to suddenly want nothing more to do with him. For a few days, I fished him out of the toy graveyard and placed him hopefully on the table. «Well? What shall we do with Klausi today?» – «Nothing,» he said. Or even worse: «Who's Klausi?»
The pace of change makes us parents look even older than we actually are.
Or outings. For a long time, I used to take my son to the playground. Now my son takes me to the playground. The fresh air. The exercise. «Can we go home?» – «Just a moment,» I plead with him. «We said half an hour.» – «Why are you in such a hurry anyway?» – «I want to play with my Pokémon.» – «Since when have you been interested in Pokémon?»
Fear of saying goodbye
The pace of change makes us parents look even older than we actually are. But don't worry. A few days later, and after doing some thorough research on «Japanese anime», we're back in the game. We haven't been stuck in the past, unlike my grandmother, who spent the last fifteen years of her life consistently giving me Uli Stein comic books simply because I'd shown an interest in them once when I was ten.
In any case, our sentimental moments aren't really about dinosaurs or teddy bears. Rather, it's that all these little goodbyes serve as a painful reminder of the big one that looms over us one day.
That moment when our child moves out of home and we're left alone with the empty nursery, where we can finally set up our gym. But we don't want a gym at all. We want our child! Come back!
One moment is so often overshadowed by another, and then it's already over. That's life.
Life without distractions
One ought to live in the moment – in such a way that one can truly savour the time spent with one's child, without being distracted by dozens of other things at the same time. So often, one moment is overshadowed by another, and then it's already over. That's life. But sometimes, though rarely enough, I manage it.
Like the other day, when I was at the swimming pool with my son. We were in a hurry, but ended up staying longer than planned, and I watched him sliding down the pirate ship time and time again, pretending to be a dangerous shark. That's your life, I told myself, and waved to him. Your life with your son. «Am I right, Klausi?»
