The Things We Keep

My son turns three this Saturday.

That is insane to me, honestly.

You’d think it wouldn’t be. Especially for me. I was obviously there - personally suffering through a really bad day that ultimately gave me one of the greatest blessings of my life. I remember the good and bad of it all too well.

But I wouldn’t have traded that day for anything because it gave me him.

The workup to this milestone has left me feeling really nostalgic. 

For all of the time spent with him; loving him, cultivating his childhood with every step taken and decision made, and everything in between.

But also for my own childhood in a way. (Bear with me, I’ll make it back to this)

Obviously, I’ve had to spend a lot of time lately considering what to get him. It wasn’t awful hard, he’s a simple guy; loves Tonies, Little People, and driving me crazy every chance he gets.

He’s a very imaginative child. He sets up all of his Little People in arrangements that only he understands, and makes them ‘walk’ around as he talks to them in his own little babbling language. 

Since this is a daily occurrence, I always look in on his shenanigans and laugh a bit. 

One time, I even caught myself thinking:

“I wonder where this all came from?”

That thought opened the door - one I forgot was even there.

The door to my own highly imaginative childhood - one that I had unwittingly shut long ago, and forgotten the way back to.

Once realization smacked me in the face, I couldn’t believe I had missed it. 

That habit of his came from me.

Because I play with him often, and that’s how I used to play.

It obviously came naturally to me, so I didn’t even think about it the first time we played like that together. Not realizing that it was my first time, in a very long time.

It’s really kind of sad when you think about it; we used to all play with our favorite toys daily, then one day we just didn’t.

Then the nostalgia sets in. 

I used to have such a hyperactive mind; capable of creating all sorts of worlds in my mind that I would bring to life with the toys I had. From small flocked animal figures, trains, and my favorites, My Little Ponies. They all had names, jobs, and purposes within the earthly walls of my imaginative dreams. I remember the joy of it all like it was yesterday.

Childhood is truly filled with so much whimsy and wonder. 

At some point between then and now, I had the good sense to gather all of those ponies that were so precious to me, clean them, braid their sparkly hair, and preserve them in a box for safekeeping.

I used to say that I never wanted kids, adamant that I never would - but that action alone makes it very obvious that I was leaving room for my mind to be changed.

Eventually, I realized that a piece of me knew that they needed to be saved, just in case. 

There was a hope lingering in the deepest part of my heart that one day I’d have a little girl that could enjoy them as much as I did. Ignoring it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. 

When I found out that I was having a boy, I was so happy. More than anything, I was praying for a baby that was happy and healthy. Everything else was window dressing. A girl just wasn’t meant to be.

So the ponies still sit, in the very same box under the bed. Not forgotten - just not their time.

My son, who loves real horses and trucks, probably wouldn’t get as much enjoyment of all of their pastel sparkly splendor as I did.

But even though he’s not able to receive that gift from me, he got something much greater.

He inherited the way that I imagined, and then some.

So as we sit on the floor together, orchestrating a high-speed car chase with Buzz Lightyear and Princess Peach, I’ll let that whimsy wash over me - soaking in all of his wonder and joy.

I thought that I was just teaching him how to play.

Turns out, he was reminding me.

Until next week,

— E. Byers, author of The Grassy Laine