By Scott Sager
New Years is upon me, bringing thoughts of change and self-improvement. I am overwhelmed by suggestions to lose weight, be a better father or increase my happiness next year. The obstacles between me and my personal upgrade are formidable, things like chocolate chip cookies, and how far away the gym seems on a cold morning.
I certainly think my kids would benefit from some well-thought-out resolutions (keeping their rooms clean, getting to bed on time, doing their homework neatly come to my mind). But as teenagers, they’re changing all the time, in spite of me and the other adults around them.
I make it hard for my children to grow and evolve into their next phase of being. I resist their mutations. They become stuck in my head a certain way and I’m unable to see the evidence of their transforming identities.
My younger daughter loved the color yellow when she was 3-years-old, maybe longer. Everything yellow — stuffed animals, food, paints. I found this wonderful and endearing. She called it “lellow,” which was so cute and made us all ask her if she wanted “lellow” candy or “lellow” clothes.
She’s 13 now, and “lellow” is not her favorite color anymore — but you wouldn’t know that from me, her mother and her grandmothers. We still look at her as if nothing has changed, in spite of the evidence: she is now taller than five feet and able to pronounce that color just fine, thank you very much. We still give her yellow clothes and bring her yellow toys. I can be alone in the house, saying “lellow” to the dog and, magically, it’s as if that little girl is in the room with me again. Read Complete Article Here.