Let me start with a story from our trip to Disney World this past week. On our first day, I discovered that motion simulator rides and I are no longer friends. Millennium Falcon: Smuggler’s Run and Star Tours had me stumbling out in a disheveled sweat. But it was Avatar: Flight of Passage on Day 2 that nearly did me in. The ride is a technical marvel and halfway through I was really worried that I was going to vomit all over its technical marvelousness. I closed my eyes and began trying to take slow, deep breaths. I let out a few coughs which is often a sign that I am going to throw up.
Then I felt a small hand on top of my own and your voice called out, “Daddy?” I looked to my right and in the middle of this wild ride in which we were swooping over a gorgeous alien planet, your eyes were locked on me with concern. I weakly smiled and said, “I don’t feel too good, buddy.” You squeezed my hand and then held on to your virtual banshee dragon thing as it went into another dive. I still felt awful, but I think that one moment—when you noticed me in the middle of a theme park ride you were enjoying—was what kept me from getting sick all over the place. You notice people and are attuned to what’s going on inside them. Everywhere you go, your heart is always leading you.
You are, as you have proudly said more than a few times today, a decade old. You look older with your recent buzz cut. The chunkiness that has been in your cheeks since you were a baby is thinning out. You are growing at the exact rate that you should be and yet it all feels too fast. As I sit in your room as you drift off to sleep, I can see both the little boy clutching his duck and the young man that you are becoming.