LIKE TIMES BEFORE

A day with the kids. All three together. Celebrating the new year and the last day of winter break.

We picked up the girls around 10,30 and drove to a coffee shop by the lake. Though we have been there several times before, we discovered that things have changed and seemingly quality has been sacrificed for the sake of quantity. Still, the atmosphere was enjoyable as we watched the ducks pass by and feed on remnants of the cinnamon buns and tortilla that the kids tossed into the water.

As a result of missing an exit to the highway back home, we ended up in the downtown area. A place we rarely visit these days. After finding a street to make the turn back to the highway, we ended up at the local bookstore. One we visited when the children were younger. A new year’s tradition of buying a children’s book or two.

In the story telling section of the bookstore, I read them a favourite book from childhood. One about a little boy who loved architecture. Though I would have loved to spend hours at the store, perusing the journals and shelves of interesting books, the three wanted to leave.

The girls each found a book they actually wanted to read and the other for my son would be ordered online. I would argue that the graphic novels that two of my kids chose are not really books, seeing how they lack an abundance of words, but they are in the form of a book and therefore close enough.

Children grow up into young adults. At times, sooner than we like them to make that transition towards adulthood. They develop their own choices. Make mistakes along the way. Things are not like times before. When we parents can make demands and expect our children to follow blindly. No questions asked.

At some point, the choices we make for our children are no longer their desire. And the more we keep pushing our wishes upon them, the more resistance we create. In the end, this leads to them alienating themselves further and keeping to themselves and their circle of friends.

We all have a need to be heard. To know that our thoughts matter. To know that someone is willing to listen. Even if it means that the words spoken are against our beliefs and what we value.

After the bookstore and a short stop at Central Market for sandwich ingredients, we drove home and enjoyed a few more hours together. Things are definitely different than times before. Circumstances have changed and time lost cannot be recovered. But sometimes that difference can be better than imagined. Especially when all three are together under one roof. Even if for a few hours.