For the past couple of weeks, John Patrick has been "upwardly mobile," if you get my drift. Jude and I have alternated between being excited and terrified, as we've watched our son toddle around the house like a drunken sailor, always a step or two away from falling on his face.
One evening last week, I sat on the front porch steps and watched John Patrick walk up and down our sidewalk. Jude was standing to the side, in the front yard, watching him, as well. It was so hard for me to sit there on the steps, watching him, as he stumbled every few steps. I knew he was going to fall on the concrete, sooner rather than later. However, he didn't want either one of us to hold his hand. Instead, he wanted to walk on his own. It was all I could do not to scoop him up in my arms, to make sure he wouldn't fall and hurt himself. I felt so conflicted.
Of course, he fell on the sidewalk. He cried a little bit, got on his knees, then stood up and started walking again. In a way, I felt helpless. I wanted to protect him, but I knew he needed to learn to walk on his own. Also, he needed to learn to fall down, then get up on his own, and walk again. And, I guess, I needed to learn to let him walk, fall, then walk again. I'm not sure who was learning more that evening, John Patrick or me.
As I watched John Patrick, walking, I realized what I was seeing was probably a metaphor for what my life will be like, in the future, as a parent. If my suspicions are correct, as he grows up, I'm going to have to watch him try something knew or just live life, knowing that he's going to fail at times. However, learning to fail then trying again is maybe the most valuable lesson he can learn. And, as time passes, I've got to let him learn that lesson, as painful for me as it may be.
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