As I pulled the pickup into a slot in front of work yesterday morning, I realized that I hadn’t given the Boy a hug.
We have a pretty decent morning pattern, he and I: My alarm goes off around 6:45, his at around 7 — as a result, we both get moving in our respective areas of the house at about the same time.
Shower. Dress. Food. Prep dogs for kennels. Get dogs in kennels. Gather up stuff and head out the door at about 10-of-8. One of us locks up the house (we take turns). We hug. He says “See you tonight.” I agree that he probably will, and off we go.
Yesterday, we forgot the hug. Nothing conscious about it; it simply didn’t happen and I thought to myself as I walked into the office “It’s starting: that time in a growing boy’s life when it’s not cool to hug the dad-person in public, where the kids across the street can see. *small sigh* Oh well, it was good while it lasted.”
This morning it was the same routine: when we got out the door, he started off toward the bus stop sans embrace and I nodded confirmation to myself.
Then he suddenly stopped and said “OH! Hug.”
Which we did, and then he gave me another one.
“What’s that about?” I asked.
“You owe me one from yesterday,” he said, in a completely matter-of-fact declaration.
“Ahh. I see.” He got his hug.
So I drove off to work this morning with the true realization: that I didn’t know a damn thing about this or that pattern, or what to expect from my kid.
Today, that’s all right.
