We are Borg…

Funny conversation happened today, one that not only lends itself to the sheer level of weirdness that I have, but also reveals a level of the geek that my wife and I share with each other. Might I just say, our geek level individually is kind of funny, together however… it’s just down right scary.

Here, let me set the scene for you…

We are walking through the mall after binge watching 4 episodes of the Daredevil show (what better way to spend the first day of my summer vacation.. in which I got up and went to the corner store to get myself a job… wait.. wrong story..) when we ran into a friend of ours who happened to be out walking her granddaughter around. This woman is a very dear friend to my wife and has been like a second mom to her. My wife tells me about some of the happenings that go on in this woman’s life, and like a good husband, I half listen.

And such was the case with this particular grandchild. It turns out that it was not grandchild number 3, but number 5 and not from her oldest daughter but her youngest. Easy mistakes, sure.. but then my wife decided to help me understand the rank and file that this child fit into and she said… this is 1 of 3.

Instantly, I got this. Instantly I decided that as my grandchildren are brought into this world that they shall have such designations in their life. Instantly… everything was clear.

My son’s children will be 1 of 1, 2 of 1, and so forth, and my daughter’s will be 1 of 2, 2 of 2.. and so forth…

I was overjoyed with this… as I am sure Gene Roddenberry and Jerry Ryan would be also. I quickly shared my idea with my wife and my daughter (whom also happened to be with us) and got the gleeful look of overjoyed approval from my wife and the scorned look of disapproval and disgust from my 20-year-old daughter.

As we continued on our way I only had one regret in all of this…

I totally should have had more kids.

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We are Borg…

Funny conversation happened today, one that not only lends itself to the sheer level of weirdness that I have, but also reveals a level of the geek that my wife and I share with each other. Might I just say, our geek level individually is kind of funny, together however… it’s just down right scary.

Here, let me set the scene for you…

We are walking through the mall after binge watching 4 episodes of the Daredevil show (what better way to spend the first day of my summer vacation.. in which I got up and went to the corner store to get myself a job… wait.. wrong story..) when we ran into a friend of ours who happened to be out walking her granddaughter around. This woman is a very dear friend to my wife and has been like a second mom to her. My wife tells me about some of the happenings that go on in this woman’s life, and like a good husband, I half listen.

And such was the case with this particular grandchild. It turns out that it was not grandchild number 3, but number 5 and not from her oldest daughter but her youngest. Easy mistakes, sure.. but then my wife decided to help me understand the rank and file that this child fit into and she said… this is 1 of 3.

Instantly, I got this. Instantly I decided that as my grandchildren are brought into this world that they shall have such designations in their life. Instantly… everything was clear.

My son’s children will be 1 of 1, 2 of 1, and so forth, and my daughter’s will be 1 of 2, 2 of 2.. and so forth…

I was overjoyed with this… as I am sure Gene Roddenberry and Jerry Ryan would be also. I quickly shared my idea with my wife and my daughter (whom also happened to be with us) and got the gleeful look of overjoyed approval from my wife and the scorned look of disapproval and disgust from my 20-year-old daughter.

As we continued on our way I only had one regret in all of this…

I totally should have had more kids.

The Toy Box in the Corner

The toy box sits in the corner of the room these days, neglected, unused, and generally forgotten about. It has been years since the children have even acknowledged the joy that has come at the expense of the toys that are now compacted into those six walls, but I still can’t bring myself to get rid of it.

Memories of jubilant Saturday mornings fill my head, of the children creating stories out of the dolls and Tonka trucks. Little green army men out to save the world being trampled on by a teddy bear that had transformed into “Bearacus the Destroyer”. Puzzle pieces strewn across the floor as they tried to compete to see which one could finish the fastest. Lastly, the numerous unspoken curses I held in as I stepped on countless Lego blocks while cleaning up after them.

It’s easy to forget the joys of your children, to forget those moments when life seemed so chaotic that you couldn’t wait for them to grow up so you could have real conversations with them. Those days of afternoon naps, tea parties, coloring book marathons and snuggling up on the couch after a day of running around cleaning up after them.

Too easy to forget as you rush forward with life.

Until…

Until that life is grown up and no longer needs you to wipe their nose, help them with their homework, kiss the boo-boo’s to make them better, read them bedtime stories or tuck them in.

G.I. Joe and Barbie are all grown up now, starting families of their own. The play room sits silent, transformed into an office and the house is quieter. The days I wished for have finally arrived.

And all I’m left with are memories.

And the toy box in the corner.

pingback

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