While Jaclyn enjoyed a birthday all-girls vineyard crawl today, I was on Miles duty, taking him to German school, picking him up, taking him out for lunch, and generally gallivanting around town. At one point, Miles observed we were close to our old neighborhood and asked to see the house we used to live in.
As we approached, I asked him if he knew where we were. He said he didn’t, a sentiment he continued to echo right up to the point that we found ourselves on the street in front of the old house. Miles asked where his room was, and I pointed out the window to the right side of the porch.
As we continued driving, we passed Seversville Park, as well as the playground Miles used to frequent. I asked Miles if he recalled the playground, where he had spent so many days while we lived in that area.
“I don’t know,” he replied, his tone suggesting that he was trying to remember, but just couldn’t. “Because I’m a big boy now. I don’t know everything from when I was a baby.”
The words hit me, deep. You’re never too young for nostalgia. For pining for something you know you’ve lost, even if it’s a feeling more than a concrete memory. Miles may not completely remember his younger days on State Street, but he knows he was happy there.
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 