Fatherhood is a frying pan. Sometimes it cooks. Sometimes it clangs. It’s the past, present, and future sizzling away as we try to figure out what we’re making here. We toil over these strange recipes, unsure of the final meal. We turn up the heat and things chill. Grow colder, things heat up. It’s a physics riddle to be human.
This clip always gets me because of its painfully obvious reminder at how shallow it can be to assume so much. We think we know our kids and they assume so much about us. We strive to connect and there is a vast chasm of space, sound, air, and feeling.
And no one can possibly understand the truer depths, as someone great once said. Former friends lose touch. People drive each other away. Memories fade. So, we divine what we can. How do you tell someone that they don’t have the faintest clue what they’re talking about? That they’re hurting themselves. That they don’t know what they don’t know. How do I explain something to this void?
We do what we can. Because our children count on us, despite the vapor of questions. Your move, chief.