Being a dad has many fine points: pushing the swing just high enough that BOTH dad and daughter are a might nervous; telling the stories of Wanda the Wolf (who lives at 1 Cave Road in Circleville PA); encouraging the toddler to coast just a wee bit fast on her Burly MyKick Balance Bike and then convincing her the resultant skinned knee makes her look tough. The list can go on.
Perhaps though, the best part of being a dad is being able to better know my own father. No trigger I can yet identify causes me to be thrown back to my own childhood, though from the vantage point of my dad:
- Once, when holding my daughter’s hand I felt oddly nostalgic. Seeing her hand in mine, I could see my hand in my dad’s when we would walk to the local diner for hot chocolate with whipped cream (now the Bistro at Haddonfield).
- Walking down a path in the woods, some combination of roots, rocks and ferns enables me to see myself, three decades prior, running down a similar path.
Just as my dad helped guide me as a child, these rare moments of role-reversal deja vu continue to guide me as a father.