old oldman

my daughter has developed a fascination for running with an old, old man, with twisted knees and a rusty, weathered back, and now my weekends have transitioned from snowy peaks to shaded trails. my kids are somehow, slowly drifting into my personal space. fishing with my son, snowboarding with my daughter.

when i had children, i was a kid, and i thought that having them so young meant i would be relatable, and i was wrong about that, since it took me the better part of two decades just to learn how to HAVE FUN, BE SAFE, MAKE GOOD CHOICES. i grew up with these little people, and there i was, home every day, with all the photos to prove it, and still there are these great swathes of empty, forgotten space.

she runs too fast, and i tell her she needs to learn how to pace herself. if i come home from work late, she wants to know if she can run by herself in the neighborhood, and i tell her she needs to learn how to be careful.

i was asked to speak to a group of young volunteers at the old fire station where i volunteered too many years ago to count. i reminisced about calls i went on, and told them that on any emergency the most important place to go is home, that the patient's emergency is not your emergency. then i stopped by a friend's house and drank too much. i almost sound like i have grown up and believe in half the things i say and none of the things i do.


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