handholding

Isaac and I cross the street. We cross hand in hand. Isaac is almost to the age where he will no longer hold my hand. I have never discouraged displays of affection with my son, noting their impermanence at inception. I have stored up the odd hug and kiss and high five. Even absent normal peer pressure, he has begun to stop holding my hand.

His wants to be his own boy. His sometimes refusal is about independence, not embarrassment. Kisses and hugs are still allowed and enjoyed. I am an affectionate person. So for me, the fact that at age 7.5 Isaac allows this behavior in his daddy is perfect. I hope he will always, but make no plans beyond enjoying the present.

This is the sweet angst of watching your children grow up. I have always been madly in love with my kids. I am constantly thinking that it could not possibly get better than this. To be clear, I am speaking generally here. I am not saying so much every minute as every age.

I have, with great strength of character, left behind diapers and full body tantrums and illiteracy. I watch my kids grow more sensitive, interesting, and knowledgeable. Sure, pudgy cheeks and hour long cuddles are missed. But the exchange has always come out in my favor.

Today, Isaac holds my hand. As we cross the abnormally wide street, Isaac relates to me a story about a dream where he and Belle are fighting evil with pies. I contemplate whether there is a better antidote to evil than pie.

His monologue stops. This sudden stop is unusual. It causes me to look down at him. My gaze then turns to the object of his hard stare.

I woman holds a sign. She is obviously homeless. The wear of living on the streets makes it obvious. Isaac asks me what the sign says. It reads, "Homeless".

Isaac walks slowly. His lips move, but no sound escapes. He finally voices his thought, "Can we keep her?"

I explain to him that this is a fantastic idea. We discuss things we can do to help her. In the end, we decide on a different course of action to help her than having her transplant herself from Salt Lake City to California. After implementing our decision, we walk away from the woman.

I smile broadly as we walk away. I grab Isaac’s hand and give it a squeeze. He immediately wriggles free of my grasp.

My smile widens.

From Utah, summertime.

Salt Lake Utah Lifestyle Photographer
Salt Lake Utah Lifestyle Photographer
Salt Lake Utah Lifestyle Photographer
Salt Lake Utah Lifestyle Photographer

BLUE LILY | Lifestyle Photographer | Salt Lake City, Utah