Springs are tough. As the snow gives way to life all around, everything comes alive. I do love spring, especially in Michigan. It’s not the change in weather or the changing colors around me that I struggle with. What begins to gnaw at my insides is the life that explodes in countless children, specially in the boys across the country. The landscape becomes filled with baseball, soccer, and bicycles. The sounds of spring fill the air, the laughter as kids chase each other through parks and playgrounds. As a boy spring was the arena of energy, having been trapped inside of buildings and bundled inside jackets, snow pants and all the other things designed to keep little kids warm.

I hear co-workers and friends talk about tryouts and practices, as well as triumphant games. I see boys outside doing what little boys do. Max turned 5 just a couple months ago, the age when most boys start making these right of passage type events and moments. I know my life as a father will always be different, but some years and some seasons certainly evoke a different emotion.

Max and I will journey outside, we will play, we will swing. Max will feel the wind against him in his bike trailer, he will laugh with joy causing my heart to burst with joy. These moments are brilliant and eternal. Yet that gnawing persists. Visions and dreams of chasing Max through the yard, watching him as he rounds 1st base or streaks downfield with a soccer ball. I know I’m not alone as countless parents are faced with these types of crashing realities.

Is my joy different than any other parents? I don’t believe that is so. I also am well aware that every changing season represents slivers of time that were never guaranteed. As I also know that so many parents haven’t been so blessed. I’m unsure if my ability to capture and embrace each moment is getting better or worse. That ability seems to be in a constant state of ebb and flow, but I hope to be defined by the decision to keep pressing forward.

Sb