They Grow Fast. We Grow Old
I already had my #50PlusDad reflection ready for today.
Then Facebook reminded me of a post I made four years ago.
And there was my boy.
Just about one year old.
Today, he is four.
By October 25, he will be five.
I looked at then.
I looked at now.
And the difference was impossible to miss.
He has grown physically.
Emotionally.
In understanding.
In confidence.
In the way he relates with the world.
He has grown in stature.
He has grown in wisdom.
He has grown in favour with God and with man.
And then it occurred to me:
They grow fast. We grow old.
The changes in him are obvious.
Mine are not.
At least, not in the same way.
But his growth is also a reminder that time is moving through me too.
I am aging.
And I am also growing.
I have grown in my understanding of the ways of a toddler.
Not merely from what I have read.
Not merely from what I have taught.
Not merely from what I have encountered in consulting rooms or professional conversations over the years.
But from actually living with one.
Raising one.
Being responsible, day after day, for one.
I said at a speaking engagement recently that not raising a biological child, or not directly raising a child, is not a hindrance to teaching, coaching, or supporting parents.
It can never be.
I had worked in parenting, child safeguarding and protection for close to twenty-five years before I began raising my own son.
But I have also come to know something else:
Nothing else could have prepared me for raising my son but raising him.
That is deep.
I will explain it another day.
A few weeks ago, we were driving to an event together.
We go out a lot.
If it is a place a child can reasonably go, I usually take him with me.
I came to a red light and turned right.
From his car seat behind me, he asked:
“Daddy, is it because you are turning right that you turned on red because the road was free?”
I almost pinched myself.
I explained that, yes, where permitted, one may turn right on red after stopping and making sure it is safe, unless a sign says not to.
Not long afterwards, we came to another junction.
The light was red.
This time there was a sign prohibiting the turn.
I pointed it out to him.
“Yes, Daddy. Thank you.”
And I thought:
This boy is growing.
Then came the question that really stayed with me.
“Daddy, you said I’m going to start driving when I’m sixteen.”
“Yes.”
“But I’m four now.”
“Yes.”
“So how old will you be when I’m sixteen?”
I paused.
I am 56 now.
When he is sixteen, I will be 68.
When he is eighteen, I will be 70.
And suddenly, those numbers began to play in my head.
We really are raising this child in the later season of my life.
Then human reasoning began to speak.
Will you still be around?
What will your health be like?
What will those years look like?
And I caught myself.
No.
I am not going to live there.
The Book I read says:
“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”
— Matthew 6:34
Each day has enough trouble of its own.
So I will not borrow anxiety from a future I have not entered.
My assignment is today.
To sow the right seeds.
To live the right example.
To make the right investments.
To speak the right words.
To take reasonable care of my health.
To eat with wisdom.
To exercise.
To make responsible provision for my son.
To prepare him, as much as I can, for a life in which I will not always be physically beside him.
And above all, to trust God with the years I cannot control.
Perhaps that is one of the peculiar realities of becoming a father after fifty.
You are intensely aware of time.
Every birthday carries mathematics.
Every milestone whispers something about your own mortality.
But perhaps that awareness can also become a gift.
Because it teaches you not to waste the day you actually have.
My son is growing.
I am growing older.
Both are true.
But I refuse to turn that truth into fear.
I choose to turn it into urgency.
Presence.
Preparation.
Gratitude.
And faith.
They grow fast.
We grow old.
So while I am here, I will keep showing up.
That is enough work for today.
