I’m Responsible for My Son’s “Good Old Days”

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One advantage of getting to review cars for this blog is that I get free access to XM radio. I’ve been flipping back and forth between XMU (rock music for college kids) and Alt Nation (modern alternative rock).

I recently was introduced to a perfectly nostalgic song called “Stressed Out” by Twenty One Pilots. My favorite part of the song contains these lyrics:

“Wish we could turn back time, to the good old days
When our momma sang us to sleep but now were stressed out”

Somewhat surprisingly, until I heard that song a couple of weeks ago, I had never truly fathomed that those “good old days” I myself lived through in the 1980s, some of the warmest and fuzziest moments and memories in my life, occurred only because of my parents.

Flash forward from 1985, when I myself was 4 years old, to 2015; now my own son is 4 years old.

My son lives in a wonderland of stuffed animals as friends; a land where monster trucks are a legitimate means of transportation… and where he can typically get away with eating mac-and-cheese for most of his meals as long as he eats his veggie-fruit pouch.

He lives in this wonderland in 2015 because of his mommy and me.

And I lived in that wonderland in 1985 because of my own parents.

It takes a good parent to create that wonderland for their own kid; which I assume if you are reading this now, then you must be one as well. Granted, providing a loving home is ultimately all it really takes to make that wonderland.

A child’s imagination takes care of the rest; as long as that child feels loved and cared for and listened to and played with and encouraged.

No matter which toys make up that wonderland, no matter how big or small the house is, and no matter how many other kids are in the wonderland in that big or small house with a lot or little toys… all that matters is that there is obvious love in that household.

That’s what creates “the good old” days for the kids we bring into this world.

It’s that simple, yet that epic:

I am responsible for my son’s “good old days.” All I have to do is simply love my son, something I am completely wired to do anyway.

And yet I never think about the sacrifices I make in my life to love him. And I’m pretty sure my own parents never did either when they were raising me.

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