Optimism rocks. Hoping that stuff will be okay, somehow, and doing what we can to work towards things being okay, somehow, is beautiful to me.
So when our toddler, Tyler, started using his developing mental capacity to wield optimism in support of his desire to follow his own inclinations, I must admit: I have caved often.
Just a couple of days ago, Tyler and I were making the twenty-minute walk to Fulford Library. (Actually, we were making the one hour walk to Fulford, as I have recently been letting Tyler walk rather than take the stroller, which gives him some great exercise and also allows us to point out the colors of every single car we pass, read all of the road signs, say hello to every person we pass, and touch nearly ever bush, tree, rock, and stick that rests between Lesley Avenue and the library.)
En route, it started raining. Hard. We popped open our massive umbrella, and we continued our trek onwards. After a bit, Tyler asked to hold the heavy umbrella.
"Daddy will hold the umbrella. It's very heavy. VERY heavy." I made a bending motion with my knees and pretended that the sheer weight of the umbrella was about to crush even me.
"Maybe I can try."
And, yes, I caved.
"Of course you can try! Yes! Let's have you try Tyler"
And he held the umbrella for about ten seconds, then said, "You can hold this one, Daddy."
About ten minutes later, Tyler: "I can jump in the puddles, Daddy?"
"Well, if we jump in the puddles, then your socks and shoes will get all wet."
"Maybe we can try."
I look at him, his eyes focused, believing that somehow we will, indeed, be able to jump and splash in a puddle the size of a paddling pool and somehow emerge dry. And I have to say yes. "Sure, let's jump."
In we go, splashing like a couple of toddlers. Or, like a toddler and his thirty-year old dad who hasn't quite given up hope that, maybe, when we try, crazy results emerge.
