What I Believed – And What Was True
Recently divorced, I was living alone in the Spring Aire apartments. (My apartment was on the corner, bottom, of the building on the far right).
My twin boys visited regularly. We swam together in the apartment pool (I was still self-conscious about the long scar from my shoulder surgery and wore a tee shirt to swim).
Putt-putt golf and the park were regular stops for my 7 year-olds.
One day I noticed that back of the apartment was a tunnel under the highway.
Curious I walked through the tunnel and discovered that it provided a neat short cut to another subdivision where Trey, a friend of my boys, lived.
“What a great adventure this could be for my boys!” I thought.
Properly chaperoned, of course, because they might get lost on the other side without my great Daniel Boone navigation skills to guide them to Trey’s house.
The next time they came to visit I announced the great safari. My boys were ecstatic!
Through the tunnel we went, tiptoeing around puddles. We emerged on the other side and trekked to our destination.
Boy, was I a proud papa for creating such a great memory that we would reminisce about for years to come at Thanksgiving!
I raised my boys to be honest, to always tell the truth. I told them that nothing they could do would change my love for them.
I might be disappointed in their behavior, be sad, hurt or angry, but I would still love them.
They couldn’t hold it in any longer and confessed to me that they had been through that tunnel many times previously.
Duh! What was I thinking? That they wouldn’t see that tunnel; that they wouldn’t explore the tunnel?
Oh well, fantasy shattered.
At least my sons were intrepid courageous explorers.
They were not infants any more and were on their journey of becoming more and more independent and self-directed – which was what I had envisioned when I first held them in the hospital.
Until next time…