I Am My Son’s 16 GB Memory Card
In the midst of my wife and I dancing around Jack like giant chickens, to the musical number of his random Chinese toy we call “Robopup,” I said to her, “You know he’ll never even remember this, right?”
It’s that realization that so much of what we do as parents of a toddler is, in theory, largely forgotten. Yet all our goofy interactions will him play a vital part in the development of his social and cognitive skills.
Until he gets old enough to actually read my daily journal entries of his life, as documented here on The Dadabase, he will not vividly remember any of what actually goes on during this time.
This past weekend we took him to the Nashville Zoo and we all loved it. Yes, Jack sure did. But I know he won’t remember anything from the event, even when he does look at the pictures in a few years.
Like the importance of punching the numbers 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 24 into the computer in the hatch on Lost, these memories we make with him do actually matter, even if it doesn’t seem like it at the time.
But since he won’t be able to remember these activities and rituals, as his dad, I will serve as Jack’s 16 GB memory card until then. I will be his link to the past. Lucky for him, I’m one nostalgic guy.
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