“I don’t think I want to do this anymore, Dad.”
I knew those words would come. Knew eventually that the newness, the adventure, would wear off. That the shiny knobs and the cool television and the showering attention would begin to fade and he would finally see the truth:
All of this is cool, yes. But it’s scary, too.
We’ve spent the past fifteen minutes talking about the afterward. To him, that will be the fun part. That’s when he’ll get the endless supply of cartoons and ice cream and popsicles, and the choice seat in the recliner by the window. And the fifteen minutes prior to that were spent talking about the before, about waking up early and skipping breakfast (which I also did, sign of solidarity and all).
But now the nurse just said the anesthesiologist is on his way, which means it’s no longer afterward or before, it’s now.
And now is scary…
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