Much to my chagrin, it appears as though time travel has not been invented, and never will be. If it existed then surely we’d know by now. Some impatient teen from the future would make certain to come back and tell us what the future holds, unless we learned our lesson from Marty McFly, and time travelers have become discreet. I doubt that though.Since time travel doesn’t exist, we’re left with the next best thing: photographs. What are photographs if not time travel? They let us see a certain time and place that no longer exists. (Unless it does exist, and then we’re back to that time travel question.)Writing is somewhat similar, and so is storytelling, but photographs capture time and place in a more concrete form. An elderly veteran can tell us what happened on the beaches of Normandy, and that’s a lot like writing, but the only way to see what happened is in photographs.I’m lucky that for the past fifteen years I’ve had a person by my side who has visually chronicled almost every single important event in my life. My wife.In recent years it’s not unusual for people to chronicle their life in pictures. For the love of god, that’s why Facebook exists. But most people who take pictures, do so casually. They whip out their phone, press a button, and maybe post it online or go back to it three months from now and look at it on a screen smaller than their palm.It’s serious business for my wife though. She’s got one of those fancy cameras with a detachable flash. When she shoots in our house at night anyone passing by might think there’s a lightning storm inside. And she doesn’t so much take pictures as she constructs them. She doesn’t manipulate the scene (except to clear clutter out of the background or foreground, a constant point of contention between us), but somehow when she points the camera and clicks, the results are a thousand times better than when I do it.When talking about pictures there are snapshots and there are photographs. My wife takes photographs.The camera has become so ubiquitous that if we venture on a family outing without it, the kids want to know why she didn’t bring it.That’s not to say that they’re always happy about my wife’s healthy obsession. On most holidays she has created a tradition whereby we take a family picture in a designated location. On the front porch for 4th of July and Halloween, on the couch for Christmas and New Year’s. Because these are holidays, the kids are naturally excited and a bit fidgety, which means we pose for eight, or ten, or thirty pictures before everyone cooperates. Eventually the kids become impatient, but at least they learn that “Just one more,” doesn’t usually mean just one more.Most of the time, they’re picture superstars though. They’ve all had their picture taken so often that they usually know precisely what to do when a camera is pointed in their direction. We’ve been out in public and strangers have commented about how well they pose and smile.My wife loves taking pictures, and we are the beneficiaries. Because even when we don’t feel like posing for “just one more” after spending an afternoon hiking in the Arizona sun, or when we have to smile for the camera before taking a bite out of the first ice cream cone of the year, or we have to hold our present up for the camera before opening the next one, my wife makes us do it.She makes us do it because she knows more keenly than any of us how valuable those pictures are. She knows that once those moments happen, they’re gone. We’ll have memories of them, and if we have the time and the inclination, we might write about them. But if it weren’t for her, we’d never again see them. Our minds might never go back to that particular place, at that particular time. But as soon as we see that picture, we can go back. We can relive the moment, or just remember it.And not losing those moments is the most valuable thing I can think of.
Cloudy With a Chance of Wrong
Bob Dylan, in his song Subterranean Homesick Blues, declared “You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.” And it’s a good thing, too, because the weatherman might get it wrong half the time.We’re lucky enough to live in an area where meteorologists have a variety of ways they can screw up. Snow, rain, heat, fog, wind, frostbite, vortexes and derechos. Plus we have days when the weather changes rapidly. There’s a tired old saying, and I always want to punch someone in the gizzard every time I hear it: “Hey, if you don’t like the weather now, just wait a minute and it’ll change.”No kidding. Thanks for that stunning insight.
I realize that meteorologists have a difficult job, and we live in an area that makes it especially challenging. But what really irks me is the confident self-assurance that every meteorologist seems to have.They wear their fancy suits and dresses and stand in front of maps and talk about pressures, and fronts, and systems, and they sound so official and wise. I don’t buy it!I’ve noticed a trend over the past few years of meteorologists showing us computer-generated versions of their forecasts: “Here’s the rain situation from the latest models that came in just within the last half hour…”Hey there, hotshot, if you’re just going to show me the model that some computer spat out for you, then why do we even need you? Why not put all these fancy models up on your website and let us all look at them? Don’t you do any interpretation of the data? Instead they put up standard graphics of suns, clouds or rain drops on the website. My favorite is the one of a cloud with a lightning bolt coming out of the bottom, and the top part of a sun behind the cloud.That forecast should just be called, “Who the hell knows?”A certain meteorologist on a certain station in Chicago is fond of inserting “Chance Showers” into his seven day forecast. Not just once or twice, but every single day. Which I guess is correct, since there’s a chance of showers everyday, right? Just telling me there’s a chance of something happening doesn’t help me though. There’s a chance that a wild pig will tackle me and eat my nose while I’m running in the morning, but it’s not likely so I don’t worry about it.Another meteorologist goes even farther and uses the question mark so often in his forecast I wonder if he has any idea what’s up. “Sunny, breezy, chance of an afternoon shower?”Question mark? Well is there or isn’t there? And if you don’t know, then say you don’t know. Wouldn’t we all respect meteorologists a little bit more if they just told us up front, “Look, this forecast is a little iffy.”That’s what we really need. We need a meteorologist who gives us the forecast and then tells us how confident he or she is in that forecast. If you think tomorrow’s high is going to be 92 degrees, with a southwest wind and plenty of sunshine, then you should let us know that you’re 90% certain of the temperature, 95% certain of the wind direction, and 75% certain that it’s going to be sunny. Telling me “Chance of a Thunderstorm?” doesn’t help. It only makes me yell things at the TV. Then I feel like an idiot because the damn meteorologist can’t hear me!The other thing we need is a meteorologist who reviews his forecast from the previous day.“Yesterday, I predicted 42 degrees and clear for today, but we only got up to 26 and sixteen inches of snow fell. Looks like I really blew that one!”They always show the weather almanac with today’s high and low temperatures, last year’s temperatures, barometer, sunrise, etc. Why not add a thumbs up or thumbs down evaluation of how well they predicted today’s weather yesterday, and then keep a running total of thumbs up versus thumbs down?There’s a 0% chance of that happening though. And that’s fine. We don’t want them to be too good anyway. There’s nothing worse than a smug meteorologist.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.
Spinning is the Devil
I took my kids to the park on Sunday afternoon and I almost died.Okay, so maybe I didn’t almost die, but for a few seconds I felt like death. I stumbled, I reached out for something to grab on to and my stomach performed some weird acrobatics.What caused this physiological near-doom? This:
In case you’re wondering how such a contraption is used, let me explain. Kids jump up and grab on to the bar, and the thing spins around, using either the child’s own momentum or the strength of some poor, unwitting adult who just wants them to have fun, but then gets suckered into trying this Death Spiral.My kids spun around four or five times, and then when the thing stopped they’d get down, maybe stumble for a step or two, and then run off to the next activity. When I tried it, I spun twice while yelling something like, “I’m going to throw up!” When the wretched thing stopped spinning I stood on unsteady feet, almost paralyzed, ready to collapse at any second.It was horrible. If you want to know what it’s like to chug ten beers and then walk on a bed of marshmallows, just ride this contraption.Of course my kids think this is hilarious. “Dad spun around twice and now he’s going to be sick!” They say these words with such sadist delight, as if seeing dear old dad almost literally brought to his knees by a piece of playground equipment is the funniest thing they’ve ever witnessed.And this isn’t the first time. A few years back my wife was pregnant with our fourth child during our annual amusement park visit. That meant that she couldn’t ride the intense rides, and the boys were too young to go by themselves. I had no choice.So of course, the kids wanted to ride one of those ghastly spider rides. You know the kind: it’s got eight or ten arms that spin around, while also going up and down, all while innocent civilians hold on for dear life in a spinning car at the end of an arm.What sick scoundrels think this is fun?My kids!As luck would have it, at the end of the ride we were suspended in the air as the other riders disembarked, which only prolonged my agony.Somehow I made it off without embarrassing myself any further, but I left a trail of sweat from the ride to the bench. My lovely pregnant wife—who’s all-too-familiar with my intense loathing for spinning—greeted us and said I didn’t look good. Surprise! I felt even worse.I’ve tried to overcome my aversion to spinning, but there’s no hope. There’s something wrong with me. I just can’t spin.Although, actually, I think the problem lies with those who can spin, and not with me. I’m the normal one.I love rollercoasters. A ride that climbs really high, then propels me at a high rate of speed through twists, corkscrews, and upside down? That sounds great! The faster, the better.I see the appeal of going fast and high and upside down. But what’s the appeal of spinning? You don’t even go anywhere. You spin and spin and spin and end up right where you started. (And yes, I know rollercoasters end up where they start, too, but stay with me here!)Go to an amusement park and watch the people getting off a rollercoaster. There’s a spring in their step. The thrill of the ride has released endorphins and they’re feeling great. There aren’t any endorphins from spinning. The only thing that spinning is going to release is your lunch from your stomach.In fact, that feeling I get after spinning is a disease. Vertigo! Why should I go to an amusement park to get a disease? That doesn’t sound like fun.Alfred Hitchcock knew the horrors of spinning, too. He made the film Vertigo, with James Stewart and Kim Novak. Yeah, Hitchcock’s definitely a rollercoaster guy.On the other hand, Walt Disney brought us the Mad Tea Party teacup ride at the Disney theme parks. He’s a sicko! It’s no coincidence that the ride is themed after one of the craziest scenes in any Disney film, the unbirthday party in Alice in Wonderland.I’m sick just thinking about it.Wasn't that well-written and fun to read? You should subscribe to my blog and we'll send you an e-mail every time I write a new one. Type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. My list is completely spam free, and you can opt out at any time.
By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.
The Cost of Raising a Child Debunked
In case you missed it, the USDA released its annual estimate of how much it costs to raise a child from birth to eighteen. I’ll spare you the suspense: it’s expensive.I think it’s also poppycock.According to the USDA, it’s going to cost $245,340 to raise a child born in 2013. Let me save you the math (my apologies for what’s going to be a math-heavy post, but I like numbers), and tell you that that works out to $13,630 per year, or $1,135 per month.(Just for the record, all of these numbers are based on costs for a middle-income family.)I’ve got four kids. If you believe the USDA numbers, then my kids should cost me about $4,500 this month. As a middle-income person, that’s quite alarming since my wife and I are also part of my family. Looks like she and I will be eating nothing but cheese sandwiches and stone soup for the month.And things are only going to get worse. Sure, cheese sandwiches are inexpensive, but what about gas? How am I going to get to work if I can’t afford gas? How am I going to pay the mortgage if those little weasels are draining all my money?What’s that you say? You want me to explain? Okay, but only because you asked.Housing eats up 30% of the total cost of raising a child. Again I’ll save you the math and tell you that, according to the USDA, each of my kids have me on the hook for a little more than $340 a month in housing costs. That’s $1,363 per month combined for the four of them!Are you kidding me?Does anyone want to buy some kids? I mean for $1,363 per month, I could buy some granite countertops!But before I post them in the Kids for Sale section of Ebay, I better think about this a little bit more.According to the USDA website, housing costs include: mortgage/ rent, taxes, maintenance, repairs, insurance, utilities (including cell phones), house furnishings and equipment.Holy cow! What kind of palace does the USDA think I live in? If my kids are costing me $1,363 per month in housing costs, then how much do I cost myself? Are realtors giving people without children better deals?I know, I know, more kids means more bedrooms, but $1,363 per month more? I’ve got to look at my cable bill a little more closely; I had no idea Disney Channel was so expensive!And transportation. If you believe the USDA, those parasites are costing me $159 a piece, or $636 total, each and every month in vehicle loans, gasoline, motor oil, maintenance, repairs, insurance and public transportation (including airline fares). Where the hell are we going?If only I had no kids I’d have an extra $636 per month in my pocket. Of course, apparently, I’d also stay home all the time since the USDA charges every dollar I spend for transportation to my kids.“But what about education and childcare?” the USDA apologist might be saying right now. And yes, that apologist is right. Education and childcare are expensive. If the precious child has two working parents, then obviously there’s childcare to pay for until kindergarten begins. Then there’s after-school care for years after that. I get it.The USDA allocates $2,453 a year for education and childcare expenses. That seems a little high to me, but I know childcare is expensive, so I’m willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Still, that’s only $44,000 over eighteen years.All right, all right, I guess the kids have to eat. They cost me $181 a piece per month in food, says the USDA. I don’t know. That depends on the kid, and the year, I think. Especially if their awesome parents invent things like Eat Whatever you Want Day.My point is that the USDA figures are inherently flawed. Some costs are overhead costs. I have to have a house, and unless I’m the Duggars the size of my house probably isn’t increased all that much by having kids. Certainly not $340 per kid, per month.So I can spend that money on something really important. Like me.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.
What I've Learned from HGTV
My wife and I spend some time watching HGTV. We usually watch the same three or four shows. (Different episodes of course!)Since HGTV doesn’t pay me to advertise for them, I won’t mention the show titles. However, as far as I can tell, HGTV only has three types of shows. One is a show where people buy a new house, and another is a show where people fix the house they already have, and the last is a show where people buy a new house and then fix it.(Yes, they’ve actually created an entire TV channel based on such activities. And they have somehow convinced people to watch!)Over the past few years, as a result of hundreds of hours of HGTV viewing, I’ve concluded that there are certain “must-haves” to make a house suitable for human habitation.Let’s begin in the kitchen. It’s basically impossible to make a decent meal unless you have a gourmet kitchen. In case you’re not a faithful HGTV viewer, let me explain what makes a kitchen gourmet.First, it must have granite countertops. If it doesn’t have granite countertops, then you’re morally obligated to rip those suckers out and replace them. Your food will not taste right if you prep it on a laminate countertop. You ignore this warning at your own risk! And if you’re unfortunate enough to have a ceramic tile countertop…well, just be thankful that grocers will even still sell to you.By the way, if you’re a trendy hipster, a butcher block countertop is an acceptable alternative to granite, especially if you don’t mind a little salmonella with your food.Second, your appliances must be stainless steel. Not black, not white. Stainless steel. This is vital. If your appliances are not stainless steel, get ‘em out of there! They’ll probably burn your pizza, rot your meat, or melt your plastic. (None of those are euphemisms.)By the way, invest in some Windex and soft towels, because although the steel might be stainless, it’s a haven for fingerprints.
Third, your range must have restaurant-sized burners. If you think a plain old 12,000 BTU residential burner is going to boil that water for your spaghetti, you’ve got another thing coming. Do you think Chef Boyardee uses a residential range?Don’t worry though, at least you’ll have the appropriate range to go with the gargantuan range hood required in a gourmet kitchen. So if you happen to accidentally light a towel on fire when you’re moving that 50,000-BTU-warmed pot of spaghetti from the stovetop, at least you won’t have to worry about the kitchen filling with smoke.That’ll do it for the kitchen, but I’ve learned things about the rest of the house, too.Let’s start with the general design. It must be open concept. The more open, the better. Walls just close everything off. Now that you’ve got that gourmet kitchen, you’ll have to have a dinner party. And if you’re having a dinner party, you’ve got to talk to your guests while you’re cooking.By the way, cleaning is not a part of the home or the garden, apparently, because I’ve never seen any advice on what to do when you’re trying to eat your fancy dinner and all of your guests have a clear view of the pile of pots and pans overflowing from the large farmhouse sink.If you’re one of those weirdos that don’t have dinner parties, it’s still important to have an open concept. You’ll want to be able to keep an eye on the kids while you’re making dinner.By the way, if you can swing it, you might want to add a butler’s pantry to your gourmet kitchen. That way you’ll have somewhere to sneak off to and take a swig of whiskey since your kids can see everything in your new open concept house.A few last pieces of advice:If you’re looking for a new house, don’t be surprised if your realtor only shows you three houses and then makes you choose one. This is perfectly normal, even if one of them is over budget, one is on a busy road, and one means that your spouse will have to commute three hours to work.Also, after you buy that charming hundred-year-old house, the one which you love so much that you’re now going to gut and renovate it, all of those problems that the realtor told you would be “easy fixes” will turn out to be giant pains.Just don’t scrimp on the granite.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.
Why I Don't Have a Cell Phone
I don’t have a cell phone.No, I don’t mean that I left it at home, or that it’s not charged, or that I was playing Angry Birds on the toilet and accidentally dropped it in.I mean that I don’t have one. I don’t carry one. If you want to talk to me on the phone you have to call my house. I won’t read your e-mail until I’m in front of a computer.And forget about texting.It’s rather rare in modern times for a person not to have a cell phone. Old people have them, some kids have them, and even people who are technology-averse have them. They’re practically a fact of life.Believe me, I understand the allure.They’re good for emergencies, like when I run out of gas.They’re convenient, like when you’re stuck in a car and you have to know the name of the guy who played Sondra Huxtable’s husband.They’re neat gadgets. What other device can entertain a three-year-old, a seventeen-year-old, and a fifty-year-old?They’re cool. Why else would people race to get the newest model of a phone they bought just twelve months before?I get it.I don’t begrudge anyone a cell phone.So why don’t I have one?It has to do with that snazzy United States map that I see in the commercials for one cell phone company. The map is colored red where cell service is available, and almost the whole map is red. So that’s good, right?I suppose. But it also means that no matter where you are someone can reach you on the phone. So whether you’re driving in your car, hiking on a trail, or lying on a beach, someone can dial your number and the miracle of technology allows that person to connect with you.Most people like that. I don’t.I’m friendly and I like talking to people. But I also like not talking to people. I like to know that there are certain places and times that I’m not going to talk to anyone other than the people I’m with.Is it inconvenient? Yeah, sometimes, in the same way that communication has been inconvenient for all of human history, except for the past fifteen or twenty years.And yes, I am that annoying person that will sometimes ask to use a friend’s phone, or who can’t be reached when making plans.I don’t care though. I’d rather be that annoying person than the annoying person at a restaurant who’s staring at his cell phone while a real live human being is sitting across from him, or the annoying person behind the wheel who watches his phone for five seconds and then the road for three seconds.When I’ve discussed my cell phone-free choice with others, they frequently encourage me to get a phone. “It’s nice to have just in case,” they say. “You can turn it off if you don’t want to talk to anyone,” they argue.Sounds like gateway drug thinking to me!I’m not one who throws around simple bumper sticker sayings, or song lyrics most of the time, but a phrase from the best rock ‘n roll band in the world seems to fit here: “With every tool they lend us/ a loss of independence.”We’re told that cell phones allow us to be connected. We can talk to anyone and read about anything any time we want. We can use it when we want to use it. We can go out and do things. We’re not tied to land lines. We can do whatever we want.But what happens when we use it all the time, when it becomes an extra limb? How many times have we heard someone talk about being lost, or naked, or discombobulated because they left their phone at home?If we rely on a gadget that much, are we free? If we can take a screen anywhere, when do we leave it behind? Are we ever alone?So there’s the short answer. I don’t have a cell phone because sometimes I need to take a break. Sometimes I need to be unreachable. Sometimes I need to be disconnected. Sometimes I need to be more than two feet away from a screen.Sometimes I need to be.Type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. My list is completely spam free, and you can opt out at any time.
By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.
It's Eat Whatever You Want Day!
My kids start school in two days, which means today’s the last Sunday of the summer. In the Baker household, that makes today the 2nd Annual Eat Whatever You Want day.It’s exactly what it sounds like.Last year my wife and I came up with Eat Whatever You Want day as a sort of last hurrah for summer. Every year we try to make summer a big deal around here. Although there are plenty of hours in which the kids sit in front of any one of their assorted screens, our goal is to pack as many fun (meaning non-video-game-related) things into the summer as we can.Eat Whatever You Want day is the culinary, gluttonous, and irresponsible aspect of our summer fun.Here’s how it worked this year: each of the four kids gave us a list of items they wanted to eat today. None of them went too crazy with their requests. Surprisingly, when you tell a kid that he can eat anything he wants, he’ll have a hard time coming up with a decent list.In addition, we also told them that they could choose one restaurant at which they’d eat one meal, and also what they wanted for their other meals.Again, their responses weren’t what you’d think. We had a couple that chose pizza, one who told us she’d get back to us, and one who pretty much ignored our request.At the grocery store this morning I filled the cart with all sorts of things that I never buy. Here’s what it looked like all spread out.
My delay in getting the requested food pushed breakfast (Fudgesicles for two kids, half a pint of Ben & Jerry’s chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream for another, and almost an entire package of refrigerated hash browns for the third) back to eleven o’clock.That made it difficult to fit in lunch and dinner, so the afternoon was filled with assorted snacks, and then dinner. No restaurants today. We simply ran out of time.There’s cheesecake on the horizon, before the kids settle in to an almost-normal bedtime. (Another of the Baker summer rules is no bedtime. This led to numerous nights of the clock striking midnight with everyone still up and at ‘em. Weeknight shmeeknight.)I joked with my wife that next weekend should be You Eat What We Want You to Eat day, but no sense in kicking them when they’re down, and I think they’re down about the end of summer.My wife and I are down about it, too.I’ve written before about how I’ve chosen to live vicariously through my children during the summer. I get just as excited as they do about the end of the school year. And when those Back to School ads start appearing after the Fourth of July, I want to go into Target and start knocking over displays of markers, glue and notebooks.Nothing will ruin a summer like dad spending time in the pokey though, so I stay away from Target. Instead I just mutter bad words to myself whenever a commercial comes on TV that shows some well-dressed kid with his chipper smile and enthusiasm about going back to school. I haven’t been in a fistfight since kindergarten, but I swear I always wanted to pack an extra knuckle sandwich in my lunch box for kids like that.For a couple of weeks now my wife and I have been saying things like, “It’ll be good to get back on a schedule,” and “It can’t be vacation all the time.”Those are just things we say to try and fool ourselves that going back to school doesn’t suck.Unfortunately, the only thing that sucks worse than that is being dumb. So while I’d like to extend summer vacation indefinitely, that’s just not realistic. The kids have to learn. There are books to read, and math problems to solve, and historical facts to memorize.They might even learn that ice cream for breakfast is a bad idea.Whatever. I’m not concerned about that. It’s summer. It’s Eat Whatever You Want Day.And that means tonight is Drink Whatever I Want Night.Time to get started.Type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. My list is completely spam free, and you can opt out at any time.
By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.
What Good is Growing Up?
My wife recently showed me a video in which a little girl cries because she doesn't want her baby brother to grow up. It might be the sweetest thing that I've ever seen, but it also got me thinking.Toys R Us is a kid's paradise. I remember being so excited when I'd get to go to Toys R Us that I could hardly stand it. All those toys and bikes and games and junk-that-no-one-really-needs is like nectar to little kids. They buzz here to look at one toy, and then over there to look at another, and across the aisle to look at another. It's so wonderful it's like...well, it's like a kid in a toy store!So you'd think I'd get excited when a Toys R Us commercial like this came on TV.Well, you'd be wrong.There was no sadder song to a young Brett than that Toys R Us song. "I don't want to grow up/ I'm a Toys R Us kid" followed by, "I don't want to grow up/ 'Cause if I did, I couldn't be a Toys R Us kid."I liked being a kid. I had awesome toys, tons of fun, and I loved my family. When you're a kid, the thought of losing those things can be overwhelming.Why would I want to grow up and get married and get my own house and have to leave my toys and my parents? No thank you!In May 1983 one of my older cousins got married. I had just turned five years old. We went to the wedding and I sat there--impatiently, probably--and watched the ceremony. And at the end, he of course kissed the bride, and the only thing I really remember about that day was thinking, "Gross, who the heck wants to kiss some girl?"And for years after that I worried that some day I'd have to kiss some girl in front of a whole bunch of people.My kids have similar worries. The other night as I was tucking my sons into bed, my older son--he's nine--looked like he was going to cry. I asked him what was wrong and he started to break down and said, "I don't want to get any older. I'm the perfect age. I want to stay like this."I instantly thought back to that Toys R Us song.A year or two ago my seventeen-year-old daughter--a rabid Taylor Swift fan--repeatedly played a song called Never Grow Up. "Oh darling don't you ever grow up/ Just stay this little/ Oh darling, Don't you ever grow up/ Don't you ever grow up/ It could stay this simple." At the time my youngest daughter wasn't quite two years old. Whenever my youngest son, who's four years older than my youngest daughter, heard the song, he'd begin crying."The words are so sad," I remember him saying one time. "And I know she's going to grow up."Little Brett, and the little girl in the video, and my kids all figured out the same thing: childhood is special. Everyone used to be a child, and whether we remember it or not, everyone probably also wished they could always remain a child.Unfortunately, this isn't Neverland, so we have to grow up.Adults frequently wish that they could regain their childhood, but that's best left to the children, because a funny thing happens as we get older. We begin to change, and suddenly kissing some girl doesn't seem like such a bad idea, and eventually getting a place of our own sounds pretty good. Even Toys R Us loses its appeal.And if we're lucky, an even more amazing thing happens. We get to see our children enjoying their childhood.Today a friend of mine told me that he smiles every time he watches his sons play with their toys because he knows they're using their imagination and they've created a little world of their own. Sometimes when I look at my own kids I get choked up just thinking about how much they enjoy each moment, how much they're developing, how much fun they have.So after all those fears of growing older and not being a kid anymore, it turns out that the only thing better than experiencing my own childhood is watching my kids experience their childhood.And that's the good of growing up.Type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. My list is completely spam free, and you can opt out at any time.
By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.