SILY 720- Dethroned by Design

Well, when my oldest was a newborn, I would pick up this tiny, red-faced, furious person at all times of day, and unless she was hungry, the crying would typically come to an end pretty quickly.

Two beautiful little eyes would find my face and stay there like I was the answer to every question ever asked.

She would smile and coo, and my heart would melt.

And as she grew to be a toddler, that dynamic remained.

Scared? Dad.

Thunderstorm? Dad.

Strange noise? Dad.

Need a human jungle gym? Dads are built for that.

I could walk into a room and her whole world got better.

For her, the whole world was our backyard and the four walls of our home and her two loving parents.

I was the king of her domain, her mother, the queen.

Now, mind you, I didn't earn that position in her realm by conquest.

I was just the biggest, warmest thing within reach, and that was enough to get me worshipped.

And I've been thinking about this ever since I heard Adam Savage say something on a YouTube video last year.

Someone had asked him what his father would have thought of his work on the Star Wars prequels.

And his dad was deep into Alzheimer's by then and never knew.

And Adam said that he was sure his father would have been joyful about his career.

And then he turned toward his own kids and how good they are at things he's not.

And every time he gets to watch it, he said, it's deeply thrilling.

And then he said this, to the baby, you're a God and parenthood is falling from grace in their eyes and them usurping us, which is the point.

Which is the point.

I almost missed those four words because I laughed at that first part.

And then I got quiet because I could see the whole thing playing out in my own house one scene at a time.

And because he was calling the fall something to celebrate.

Around four or five years old, the worship got more practical.

Well, when my oldest was a newborn, I would pick up this tiny, red-faced, furious person at all times of day, and unless she was hungry, the crying would typically come to an end pretty quickly.

Two beautiful little eyes would find my face and stay there like I was the answer to every question ever asked.

She would smile and coo, and my heart would melt.

And as she grew to be a toddler, that dynamic remained.

Scared? Dad.

Thunderstorm? Dad.

Strange noise? Dad.

Need a human jungle gym? Dads are built for that.

I could walk into a room and her whole world got better.

For her, the whole world was our backyard and the four walls of our home and her two loving parents.

I was the king of her domain, her mother, the queen.

Now, mind you, I didn't earn that position in her realm by conquest.

I was just the biggest, warmest thing within reach, and that was enough to get me worshipped.

And I've been thinking about this ever since I heard Adam Savage say something on a YouTube video last year.

Someone had asked him what his father would have thought of his work on the Star Wars prequels.

And his dad was deep into Alzheimer's by then and never knew.

And Adam said that he was sure his father would have been joyful about his career.

And then he turned toward his own kids and how good they are at things he's not.

And every time he gets to watch it, he said, it's deeply thrilling.

And then he said this, to the baby, you're a God and parenthood is falling from grace in their eyes and them usurping us, which is the point.

Which is the point.

I almost missed those four words because I laughed at that first part.

And then I got quiet because I could see the whole thing playing out in my own house one scene at a time.

And because he was calling the fall something to celebrate.

Around four or five years old, the worship got more practical.