JP's First Exam and the Passage of Time

As I drove J.P. to school at MBA this morning, we reminisced a bit about the passage of time.  

He has his first exam this morning - English Literature - the first of many exams he will take in middle school, high school, and college.  He admitted to being a little nervous.  Understandable.

My advice?  "Approach the exam with confidence.  Just like playing basketball or pitching in a baseball game.  With confidence.  You've put in the work.  You're ready."

I added, "If you make a 98 or an 82, are you any different of a person?  I know the kind of kid you are and you know the kind of kid you are.  That's what matters.  Nothing changes because of the grade you make."

Good advice or bad advice?  I don't know, but it's what I had for him.

I asked him how it felt to know that his first semester at MBA is almost behind him.  "Strange," he replied.  "Now, it seems like it went by so fast," he continued.  "But it seemed to go really slow while I was in it."

I chuckled and agreed.  "That's kind of the way it works," I said. 

When I see a father walking in the neighborhood with a baby or toddler in a stroller, or when I see a father roll a stroller into Portland Brew, a wave of nostalgia stops me in my tracks momentarily.  I pause, smile, and for an instant, remember the stroller days with J.P. and Joe.  

Simpler times?  Unquestionably.  Better times?  I'm not so sure about that.  Happier times?  Maybe, if for no other reason than my mom and Carley Meade were still in my life, and the boys' lives.  That's a big part of it, I think.  I find myself missing both of them lately.

I told J.P. that it seemed like, forever, I could pick him up, hold him, or throw him over my shoulders as he laughed.  Now, that seems like forever ago.  At 13, soon to be 14, he can probably pick me up. 

Time and the passage of time are such strange concepts.  

And, now, I look up from my table in the back of Portland Brew, and see a father walk in with his infant daughter, carrying her breakfast and milk, and hand her off to what looks like her nanny.

Just like I used to meet Carley at Bongo Java a lifetime ago, and hand off J.P. then later, Joe, to her as I hurried off to work.  We'd spend a few minutes together and I'd buy Carley breakfast.  The joy in the boys' faces when they saw her and the joy in her face as she hugged them.  A memory I'll never forget.

So, as I return a wave from Dierks Bentley as he picks up his morning coffee, I'll sign off.